Beat the Drums of War
by StarSword-C
Summary: Novelization of "Blood of Ancients", with Worffan101. The Iconians launch their invasion of the Milky Way in earnest, and the great powers of the galaxy must join forces to blunt their first assault. Amid the quadrant-spanning battle, Captain Kanril Eleya of the USS Bajor and High Admiral D'trel of the RRW Vengeance are faced with a critical intelligence mission.
1. Prologue

**Dramatis Personae** (updates as needed)

 **Crew of the ch'M'R** ** _Kholhr_** **:  
** High Admiral D'trel, flag and CO: Linda Hamilton circa _Terminator 2  
_ First Omek'ti'kallan, executive officer: Chiwetel Ejiofor  
Subcommander Daysnur, co-chief engineer: Alan Tudyk  
Subcommander Zel, conn officer: Kevin Michael Richardson  
 _t'ongbûrz_ Joh'Kghan, _turak_ exchange officer: Jim Cummings  
Science Bekk Min'tak'allan, sensor officer: Wil Wheaton

 **Crew of the USS** ** _Bajor_** **:  
** Captain Kanril Eleya, commanding officer: Jennifer Hale  
Commander Tesjha Phohl, first officer: Claudia Black

 **Alpha Quadrant Alliance Joint Command:  
** Fleet Admiral William T. Riker, Commander-in-Chief of the Federation Starfleet: Jonathan Frakes  
Rear Admiral Tuvok, flagship USS _Voyager_ : Tim Russ  
 _Khre'Enriov_ Klau tr'Kererek, supreme commander of the Romulan Republican Fleet: Bill Corkery

 **Klingon Empire:  
** Captain Garok, son of Woldan, CO, IKS _NaS'puchpa'_ : Harrison Page

 **Delta Quadrant:  
** Eldex, Overseer of the Vaadwaur Supremacy: Toby Leonard Moore

 **Iconian Empire:  
** Supreme High Lord Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness: BRIAN BLESSED

* * *

 _ **Beat the Drums of War**_

 **by StarSword-C and Worffan101**

Based on "Blood of the Ancients" by Cryptic Studios

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _Andromeda galaxy. May 24th, 2410._

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness woke up.

 _Ow. Damn those puny and insignificant worms! Oh, well, better go back and lend the incomprehensible power of my imponderable majesty to leading the glorious invasion of unstoppable might and unending gloriosity…_

How dare those pathetic servitors kill him! He was inevitably fated for greatness!

The Iconian sat up with a moaning thrum, hauling himself out of the casket that had been set up for him after the first 16 times he'd died and been spontaneously reborn on the same point on the same planet. It seemed to be relative to the planet and its rotation, the scientists said, and the Iconians had halted this planet's plate tectonics millennia ago. So all Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness needed to worry about was the painful crick he got in his neck every time he died and woke up again.

His head had been blown up, this time. Accursed servitors! They should know their place!

Grand High Lady Destined-for-Eternal-Glory, the sister of Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, greeted Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness with the usual flowering praise, which he reciprocated, as he exited his father's storage bunker. It took a few hours, but it was custom, and Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness loved customs. They tended to massage his ego.

Eternal Grand Supreme High Emperor Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds, He-Who-Rules-All-Worlds, Infinite Supreme Imperator of all Iconians, Ineffable Sovereign of All Galaxies, Supreme Grand Deity, Incarnation-of-Glorious-Destiny, Master of Fate, Shining Paragon of Eternal Dignity, Eternal Hierophant of Perfection, Glorious and Eternal Lord of Light, Master of all Mysteries, Model-for-all-Virtues, Undying Suzerain, holder of more titles than it was practical to use even for the Iconians, the father of Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, was in a council meeting and barring extreme circumstances would be for a year or two. There were several hundred members of the council, after all, all of whom would speak, and all of whom would engage in at least two hours of pompous bragging and at least four hours of fawning adoration of the magnificence of whichever speaker they were responding to (more, it they were talking in response to more than one speaker) every single time they wanted to talk.

This was how Black Caste Iconians worked, after all. They were the first and foremost of the six Iconian castes, and the only ones who used complete Old Form names rather than abbreviations, like Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness's deceased assistant M'Tara. They were destined to a man for shining glory and eternal dignity-and as the son of Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds, Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness was destined for the shiniest glory and most eternal and perfect dignity. Which would of course be explained to him with pompous and fawning adoration whenever he met another Iconian or groveling servitor in daily life.

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness personally felt that more pomposity and fawning adoration was necessary. It massaged his ego so nicely.

The Supreme High Lord checked himself in a flawless silver mirror (held up, of course, by a groveling Herald), and tapped his mustachio, which vibrated. It wouldn't do to conquer a galaxy with his magnificent visage in anything less than its usual flawless perfection, after all.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** This is going to be a six-part miniseries, counting the prologue and epilogue, and updated as we finish chapters. I felt a mission as epic as "Blood of the Ancients" (despite Worffan101's objections to some of the plotting aspects) deserved that treatment.

One of the interesting things I've found working with Worfie over extended adaptations, he always likes to diverge heavily from the canon plot, whereas I like to stick closer to it.


	2. The Beacon Is Lit

**Chapter 1: The Beacon Is Lit**

 _ch'M'R_ Kholhr _. Azure sector. 0200 hours Federation Standard Time, June 8th, 2410._

D'trel heard the chime, vaguely. She didn't look up from her paper, scratching at the surface with her charcoal stick.

"Come in."

The door hissed, and then closed. A large, heavy shape moved to the Rihanha's chair and stood, hands clasped behind his back. D'trel looked up, rubbing across her eyes with her arm to hide the tears.

"What is it, First?"

"Priority hail from Command, sir. I came myself; I believed that you would not appreciate being hailed remotely."

"Thank you, First," said D'trel, putting aside the paper, a half-finished charcoal drawing of a Rihanha with an angular face on the open page. "What does tr'Kererek want?"

First Omek'ti'kallan did not comment on the drawing as D'trel grabbed her sword; he merely followed, calmly, as the Rihanha strode for the door. "We are to report to Terra. High Command has attached the Second Fleet to the Alliance Anti-Iconian Force. Battle plans are being drawn up today."

"Good." They entered a turbolift, D'trel strapping on her sword. "Bridge."

"Warbirds _Temer_ and _Rea's Helm_ are in position and ready to engage quantum slipstream," Omek rumbled. "Zel says that the fastest route should be to jump to New Romulus and take the transwarp gate to Terra."

"Good." The door hissed open. "Zel, flight plan approved, let's go, press the button."

"Yessir," said the Breen, pressing the button. "Ah, I love briefings. So much more _formal_ than just being told by the boss what to get."

"Yeah, this is a military, not a Breen crime syndicate," said Min'tak'allan from his station. "Need a drink, sir? Tea's going to be ready in a minute."

D'trel shook her head, walking for her office with Omek'ti'kallan behind her. "Not at the moment." The door slid shut behind the Rihanha and Jem'Hadar as the Breen and Ferasan started arguing amicably about Breen airbike gangs.

"Briefing materials from High Command," noted First Omek'ti'kallan as he passed a PDA to D'trel. "You are to be in command of a joint fleet—Republic, Federation, and Klingon personnel."

"Fine. Huh," she added, looking at the PDA. "They pulled almost everything back from the Delta Quadrant for this. Tr'Kererek's anticipating an Iconian attack. Smart man. First, get the combat teams briefed, we're on yellow alert until further notice."

"Yes, sir."

First Omek'ti'kallan left, D'trel paging through the PDA behind him.

"...and well, I've told you how I got tired of working for Thot Kol, that guy was a dumbass, but I gotta say, there's nothing quite like the thrill of being behind the joystick…"

The turbolift doors slid shut, and the Jem'Hadar waited calmly for the twenty seconds of descent, his hands clasped behind his back. The doors opened, and he strode calmly out onto the armory deck.

It was unlikely that the tactically inept Iconians would attempt an attack on the war conference. But if they did muster up some common sense, then by Odo'Ital, First Omek'ti'kallan and his soldiers would be ready to meet them.

* * *

 _Valentine Memorial Auditorium, Earth Spacedock._

The auditorium is packed with COs from across the Beta Quadrant, Starfleet, Klingon, and Romulan alike. A black-clad Fleet Admiral William Riker stands at a podium in front of one of the bigger wall screens I've seen, flanked by the flags of the Federation and Starfleet Command. "May I have your attention please?" The murmuring and chitchat dies down.

"It's confirmed. War," he says simply, turning to a map of the Federation and its surrounds. "In the early hours of the morning yesterday the Vulcan Defense Force vessel _Vanik_ encountered, engaged, and destroyed an Iconian probe vessel near 40 Eridani B. We have since confirmed sightings and sensor traces of such probes in several major star systems, including Sol, 61 Cygni, Andor, Qo'noS, B'hava'el"—I grit my teeth—"Dewa, and Cardassia. Cross-reference this with reports of major troop and ship movements from our operatives in the Herald Sphere, and we have strong indicators of invasion within the next week."

He pauses for effect. "This is the real thing, and it's going to be bloody. The Iconian forces have severe technical and numerical superiority despite their general lack of tactical skill. If we're going to have a prayer of winning this, we have to fight smart. Admirals, conserve your forces and be prepared to retreat from an untenable position unless there is no alternative. I think we're going to be seeing a lot of chase fights."

He flicks the screen over to a chart, an order of battle. "Starfleet Command has called up every reservist we can find a spot for, and we're preparing to call up the corps of cadets if we have to to defend the Sol System. General Kagran has informed me that the Klingon Empire is doing likewise, but they're concentrating on Qo'noS. And Supreme Commander tr'Kererek has pulled back practically every ship the Republican Fleet had in the Delta Quadrant." I raise my hand. "Yes, Captain Kanril?"

"Is anybody else helping, sir?"

"We've sent envoys to the Dominion, the Breen, the First Federation, even the Tzenkethi and Kinshaya. Haven't heard back yet. We do have people coming from the Delta Quadrant—the Hazari, Hierarchy, Benthans, and Turei are chipping in a couple battle groups' worth of ships, and the Kobali are contributing two infantry regiments—" At which point a groan runs through the hall. "That's _enough_ of that! Look, I'm no more fond of the Kobali than anyone else here, but if we lose, _everyone_ loses. We need all the help we can get, and they want to help, and that is my final word on the subject." He turns back to the list. "The President spoke to the Grand Nagus earlier today; the Ferengi are looking to their own. They're expecting an attack on Ferenginar and planning accordingly. Ditto the Cardassians; they don't have the ships to spare anyway, so we told them to pull back everything they could to Cardassia.

"By far the biggest strategic problem is that the enemy has the initiative. Their gate technology allows them to teleport forces anywhere in the galaxy in short order, and we have limited understanding of this. Your secondary responsibility is to acquire information. Record _everything_ , and transmit it continuously."

"Where to, sir?" somebody else, a Bolian rear admiral I don't recognize, asks.

"Every allied base or outpost in range," Riker replies. "Makes it harder for the Iconians to block it.

"We've sent assignments out to your ships. Commodore Paris and Admiral D'trel are heading up special task groups to which some of you will be assigned. Code word for the operation is Iron Dome, and—"

The red alert klaxons blare, and Riker starts, grabs his PADD, and swears.

I know what he's going to say before he says it.

"That was Starfleet Science. We just picked up Iconian gateway signatures near Starbase 234 and the Dewa system. The invasion has begun."

There is a brief moment of silence, and then one of the civilian scientists screams. COs and flag officers bark orders and move to their attack groups. Riker beams up, and outside ship engines start to glow and wink out as the fleet mobilizes.

"Kanril, Garok, Sloan, K'Rokar, Bovanovitch, Perry, you're with me!" barks a compact female Romulan armed with a sword, a TR-116 projectile rifle, an automatic large-caliber pistol, and at least three knives that I can see. Plus a grenade belt. At least she shouldn't run out of weapons anytime this century. I hustle over, nodding to a Klingon that I recognize from a meeting I had on the _Bajor_ before the One of One incident.

"I'm not one for lengthy introductions so I'm keeping this short," says the Romulan. "I'm _Rahaen'Enriov_ D'trel. You may have heard of me. If I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Anybody who breaks off to do some glory hounding will not be supported by the fleet and can expect to die, so stay in formation and follow orders. I value independent thought and creativity, but keep it in the meeting room—in a battle, my tac plot lets me see the whole map, so there is nothing that you see that I don't, and I have command authority. If you find my actions to be alien to your uptight Federation standards, or want to b*tch at me about that Kobali f*cker I killed, I will give you exactly one reminder that I am a _Rihanha_ , not a _Lloann'na_ , and to shut up and do your job. Do I make myself clear?"

"Clear as Andorian ice," growls Garok on my left. "We will crush the Iconian filth!"

D'trel turns to me, one eyebrow raised.

I take a breath and think for a moment. "I'm… not going to say I completely approve of your past actions—General Q'Nel had to go, but political assassination isn't exactly in the handbook—but I'll follow your orders, sir. Or should I address you as 'ma'am'?"

D'trel's smile is thin but genuine. "Call me sir. I think that this will work. Let's move. D'trel to _Kholhr_ , one to beam up!"

* * *

 _USS_ Voyager _, Off Earth Spacedock._

I knock on the door. "Enter!" The door slides open and I stride in and wait for the chocolate-skinned Vulcan to acknowledge me. "Captain Kanril. You should be on the _Bajor_ ; we are about to leave for Vulcan."

"Admiral Tuvok. I had a thought. Based on that probe the VDF destroyed, we're expecting an attack on Vulcan, right?" He nods. "No way the VDF can hold them off, and we don't have enough ships left to defend all the core worlds, right?"

"Speak your mind, Captain."

"What if we got the Undine to help?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "That does not seem wise."

"But does it seem _possible_? Look, they've got as much reason to hate the Iconians as we do, maybe more. If the visions that commander showed me during the Schrödinger's Butterfly… _episode_ are true, the Iconians deliberately targeted Undine children to provoke them against us. And I saw the reports on that thing you got into with Cooper and that command ship."

"This assumes we can reach a friendly tribe. And based on your own reports, Captain, the Undine may be involved in fratricidal warfare at this point."

"I know it's a long shot, but you at least know where to find the Undine I met and how to identify them. Jump into fluidic space in the Idran system, don't act threatening, and check the hull markings under ultraviolet light. And… Sir, mind-meld with me."

"Captain?"

"Look, I mind-melded with T'Var once—long story—and she spent the next two days saying ' _phekk_ '. And that guy spent a pretty good length of time rummaging around in my head. I'll lay you even odds he'll recognize the traces of me in your thoughts."

His eyebrow seems to be stuck in the 'up' position. "I _do_ know the aftereffects of a mind-meld, Captain."

I ignore his chiding tone and press on. "Sir, the last thing he said to me was, 'We will come. We will fight.' Against these odds—"

He holds up a hand to forestall me stating the obvious. "Captain, you have already won the argument. The risks are, as I said, considerable, but the other option is _impermissible_." He stands and gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk; I take a seat.

"Are you prepared?"

"No, but that doesn't matter. Do it, sir."

He nods and carefully places his fingertips against my face. I try to control my breathing, not to mention my gut reaction at having a man other than Gaarra touch my face like this. Tuvok intones, "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts…"

* * *

"All ships, this is D'trel," barked the Rihanha as she slid into her command chair. "We go in through the transwarp gate to ch'Mol'Rihan, then punch it through quantum slipstream to Starbase 234. Everyone's on battle stations until further notice, make sure that you've got some coffee or such because this is going to be a long night." She tapped her comm and turned to the helm station. "Zel, let's go."

"Yes, sir," confirmed the Breen. "Engines are running at peak performance, for once."

"Good," said D'trel. It could be difficult to pull full engine power from a modern set of impulse engines on a _T'varo_ spaceframe, but D'trel's engineering team was generally good at keeping things running properly. "Omek, weapons?"

"All systems ready and functioning at maximum capacity."

"Good. Engineering, how's my singularity core?"

"We're running hot," reported Daysnur over the intercom. "Everything's smoother than it's been in months, we finally got to do a full repair session last week."

"Excellent. Keep it that way. Min'tak'allan, sensors?"

"Functioning at peak efficiency, sir! We're in top fighting shape and ready to take out some would-be alien overlords, sir!"

D'trel smiled a little at the kid's exuberance. It helped her control the boiling rage at the Iconians that was bubbling under the surface.

At least Omek was there to take over if she lost it. The Jem'Hadar was one person who D'trel trusted completely and implicitly in all things.

The transwarp gate loomed on the viewscreen and activated. A small group of vessels followed.

"Alright, let's move in," said D'trel. "Today, we cut some vengeance in blood from the Iconians."

Zel chimed in, "Transwarp in five, four, three, two, one…"

* * *

 _Undisclosed location, the Delta Quadrant._

"Admiral Reynolds, I can't help you," the brown-clad, bell-necked Vaadwaur told the black-clad, tattooed human.

"Overseer Eldex, I don't believe you fully understand the gravity of the situation. If we can't stop the Iconians' advance—"

"They'll treat us no differently than they'll treat you of the Alpha Quadrant. I didn't say 'won't', I said 'can't'. Thanks to my predecessor we have barely enough ships and troops left to defend our own borders and we're still engaged with the Borg. I'm _sorry_ , I truly am, but I must look first to my own. If the Iconians come here, we'll fight them, but I simply can't afford to send my men and women to fight on the other side of the galaxy."

Marama Reynolds sighed. "Very well, Overseer Eldex. I don't like it but I understand. I'll see myself out."

"Admiral Reynolds?" Eldex called after her. She looked over her shoulder as she reached the door. "May God be with you."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Yes, we're doing an Eleya/D'trel crossover here. Morgan and Brokosh are also planned to make minor appearances later.

A couple of notes on ranks I want to point out. First, Riker refers to Tom Paris as "Commodore Paris". While it's true that Starfleet currently doesn't have the rank of commodore, in modern usage in the US Navy, "commodore" is used as a term of address for a non-flag officer (usually an O-6 captain) who is placed in charge of a small flotilla.

Second, we upped Kagran's rank to general because a mere captain is way junior for the authority he seems to have been given.


	3. The Battle Joined

**Chapter 2: The Battle Joined**

 _In the year of the dragon we strike against our brothers_  
 _Those fools who grovel before the Western outsiders_  
 _The Emperor demands that our nation be restored_  
 _In his name the samurai once again march for war_

 _On our walking machines we stride across the land_  
 _Towering above the mist with our swords in hand_  
 _The shogunate's men rise in defense of their masters_  
 _But their spirit is weak and our steel is stronger_

 _I ride to war on my ironclad beast._  
 _Upon the foreigners' terror will my men feast._  
 _For tradition. For honor. Our gunfire deafens._  
 _Revere the Emperor (Sonno!). Expel the Barbarians. (Joi!)_

 _Their unfair treaties will be rewritten in blood_  
 _A warning to their kind and our weak-willed shogun_  
 _We'll take back the skies from their coal-fired airships_  
 _Cast away their disease and their lack of respect_

 _From the flames of Kagoshima to the walls of ancient Edo_  
 _We will strike at their heart with unrelenting anger_  
 _We can no longer stand by as the shadows grow long_  
 _The steam-powered samurai's age has finally come_

 _I ride to war on my ironclad beast._  
 _Upon the foreigners' terror will my men feast._  
 _For tradition. For honor. Our gunfire deafens._  
 _Revere the Emperor (Sonno!). Expel the Barbarians. (Joi!)_

 _Ikuze!_  
 _Oh - Reh - San- Jo_

 _We will restore the Emperor to his rightful place_  
 _Regain our pride and save precious face_  
 _Uproot the weeds that have soiled our land_  
 _Pray to our ancestors and make amends_

 _We are modern relics of the most ancient traditions_  
 _At war one last time for the sake of our nation_  
 _One final stand on this most glorious day_  
 _Then the steam-powered samurai will fade away_

 _I ride to war on my ironclad beast._  
 _Upon the foreigners' terror will my men feast._  
 _For tradition. For honor. Our gunfire deafens._  
 _Revere the Emperor (Sonno!). Expel the Barbarians. (Joi!)_  
— "Steam-powered Samurai", Escape the Clouds

The largest fleet the Klingon Empire had assembled in living memory hung silent in space over Qo'noS. Not even for the invasion of Cardassia had so many ships gathered under the aegis of the Imperial Klingon Defense Forces.

And for good reason, Commander Bo'roth, the first officer of the IKS _BortaS'qu_ , reflected. Qo'noS' defenses had been caught unaware when the Undine struck in January. This time they had warning, and _J'mpoQ Qang_ would not allow a second such insult to the honor of the Empire. To that end, the Chancellor had taken personal command of the defense.

"Where are they?" Lieutenant Commander Hark growled. "My blood thirsts for combat."

"Patience, Hark. You'll get your fill of battle soon enough."

"Captain!" Serassh, the Gorn science officer, exclaimed. "Reading several Iconian gateways opening in sector six! Herald ships on attack vector!"

"As I said. Sound general quarters! Shields up!"

"CHAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!" Captain Koren howled, hammering the "fire all" button on her console repeatedly. "TAKE THEM DOWN! Today is a good day to die!"

"Sir! They're hailing us!" shouted the comm officer.

"Put it on," growled Bo'Roth.

The Iconian on the viewscreen laughed malevolently as the _BortaS'qu_ bore down on the lead dreadnought, gunfire and torpedoes streaming from its mounts. "PUNY LESSER BEINGS! YOUR PATHETIC AND INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE MINDS CANNOT COMPREHEND THE MAGNIFICENCE OF SUPREME LORD VALOROUS-DEEDS-OF-MIGHT! FOR VALOROUS-DEEDS-OF-MIGHT IS DESTINED FOR GREATNESS, AND MY FORCES ARE INVINCIBLE!" It laughed again, at length.

"Sir," suggested Bo'roth mildly, "maybe we should approach it from the flanks? That main gun does look like it can—"

"I have no fear, Commander!" yelled Koren. "We will face the Iconians with good Klingon steel and Klingon disruptors, and they will fall before—"

The world exploded as the Iconian dreadnought's forward weapons fired. Sirens blared. Viewscreens whited out and exploded. Lights shattered. Consoles blew, sending officers screaming through the air. Part of a wall vanished and the operations officer was messily beheaded by a flying axe of battle steel that embedded itself half a meter into a console on the port wall.

"ARGH!" Koren snarled as Bo'roth pulled her to her feet. "What was that? What hit us? What weapons do we have?"

"Sir, we've lost engines, weapons, and shields!" growled Bo'roth, checking his console. "We're dead in space!"

Koren opened her mouth, closed it again as a line of blood started to roll down her face from a gash on her scalp, and settled for an angry growl.

"With respect, sir," said Bo'roth, watching the dreadnought float silently past outside the force-field-closed hole in the side of the bridge, "I did suggest that maybe flying into its main gun was a bad idea."

* * *

 _Starbase 234, H'atoria Gamma-12 System._

Admiral Yarlin Dao, the flag officer-in-command of H'atoria Sector Fleet, is a familiar face to me. Back when I was in the Militia, he was my CO's boss, the Commandant of Space Arm. Oh well, Militia's loss, Starfleet's gain. "It's good to see you again, sir," I tell him in _Bajor'la_ , smartly saluting in Militia manner out of respect. "How long you been out here?"

" _About two years, Captain,_ " the grey-haired man from Dahkur Province answers. " _Given my Resistance experience I was a natural choice once we were sure the Republic wasn't a rumor. No offense,_ Rahaen'Enriov _,_ " he adds for D'trel's benefit in somewhat poorly pronounced Rihan.

" _None taken,_ " D'trel answers in Federation Standard. " _Where are you, on the station?_ "

" _No, ma'am, the USS_ Regent _. Biggest ship I have, and if even half of what the scouts in the Herald Sphere have been telling us is accurate, we're gonna need it._ "

" _Sounds good to me. We'll be operating under your command for this mission._ "

" _Understood. I'm designating you as backup, ma'am._ " He sighs. " _I'm hoping we can hold the Iconians here, keep them away from New Romulus and the Nequencia colony, but our priority is to evac the civilians and nonessential personnel. Captain Appiah?_ "

The screen shifts to a slim, dark-skinned human with a buzz-cut and a thin beard, the base commander, Jojo Appiah. " _I've called in or shanghaied every ship in the sector. Their RV is Narendra III; the local Klingons owe us a favor. We've already begun the evacuation but—_ "

Wiggin's console chirps and he jerks forward in his chair. "Bloody hell. Captain!"

I know that tone. "Sound battle stations! How many gates, Master Chief?"

"Four that I can see."

" _101 Wing,_ " Admiral Yarlin orders, " _stick close to the station. Nine-Seven through Nine-Nine and Task Force Vengeance, follow me in and watch that crossfire. Hundred Wing, stay in reserve. May the Prophets be with us._ "

" _You heard the_ enriov _. Move in, Haakona Support Formation._ "

It takes me a moment to remember that formation, but D'trel helpfully sends the layout to my tac plot. It's an old Romulan battle plan, from one of the earlier Federation/Romulan wars. Devastating against the light Andorian escorts favored by Starfleet at the time.

 _Bajor_ is in the middle, behind the _Regent_ 's formation, with the two lighter cruisers slightly behind and "above" us to provide support. K'Rokar's sleek _Mat'Ha_ -class raptor is "beneath" us, cannons ready. The lighter escorts are in a rotating ring around this set-up, slightly ahead, but I know that they're ready to shift back and then break off at a moment's notice.

This formation is designed to bust blockades, and given the sheer number of Herald ships incoming, it's pretty clear that D'trel's plan is to use me like a sledgehammer, hitting the cruiser-and-raider wolfpack on the _Regent_ 's flank while the flagship takes on the Herald battleship dominating the incoming force. There's four cruisers and around twenty raiders in that pack, plus swarms of fighters, but the coordination is lackluster; uneven lines and that kind of chaotic, irregular formation that stinks of an inexperienced or even stupid flag officer. Good, we have a fighting chance. If they were holding a better formation, their Iconian tech might be enough to beat us, but like this, we should punch through and break them.

The Heralds come in, raising their shields in leisurely disorder. Again, reads like arrogance and lack of coordination.

But the readings we're getting from those ships...

We have a good, fighting chance. But it's going to be rough.

"There are two cruisers in the middle of that attack group, holding something like a coordinated pair," I say, indicating the ships on my plot. "D'trel's using us like cavalry from pre-industrial armies; that's the equivalent of an infantry battalion. But not a good one. We need to break anything like order they have before they form actual order, or they'll swat us like a bug. Tess, target the one on the right, phasers to maximum power."

"Aye, Captain."

The Heralds' weapons ports are starting to glow, now, but ours have been hot for over two minutes already. We're almost in range—

Then the lead battleship fires and five birds-of-prey simply _evaporate_. A roar of shock erupts over the comms.

" _All ships, fire at will!_ " Yarlin bellows, trying to regain control of the situation. Ahead, the _Regent_ lights up with phaser fire, targeting the Herald battleship. The spindly-but-massive vessel, looking more like an elaborate theatrical mask than a starship, responds with a swarm of trash, EMP and electronic-warfare probes to sabotage us and leave us stranded while the Heralds blast us to splinters. The tac plot highlights some of our ships in green. " _Green Group, stick to holding Sector Zero-Three-Seven!_ "

" _Phekk_ , they've got a range advantage!" I tell D'trel. The Romulan's already calling for Garok's _Negh'Tev_ -class to clear away the probe swarms before we get too close; as I watch, her own cannons fire a spread volley.

"Tess, torpedoes on that cruiser the _moment_ its shields drop!"

"Aye, Captain!" I hear in her tone a vicious little grin. She's actually _enjoying_ this.

Garok's ship is big, the closest the Klinks have to a GCS, but like most Klingon capitals it's built for firepower and maneuverability over defense; and survivability is needed in the point position here. However, the disruptors are powerful and the commander has a good eye, so the mobs of trash headed for my ship don't even make it to D'trel's escorts, now pulling ahead slightly. The Starfleet battlecruiser on my other flank then joins in as the _NaS'puchpa'_ opens fire on the other cruiser in the pair ahead, the other two moving in behind and maneuvering to fire on the escorts.

" _Lead escorts, fire on the raiders!_ " orders the Romulan. The raiders are breaking off from the wheeling mob they're making around the cruisers, but they're still packed close enough together that the cannons make mincemeat of them. Tess gets more of them with the phasers in automatic targeting mode.

Come on, closer, closer… "Now, Tess!"

"I have a lock. Firing!" Tess switches targets and the main phaser strip forward of the bridge lights up, two firing pulses whipping along its length faster than the eye can follow. The pulses meet and a thunderbolt slams out into space, crosses the void in an eyeblink, and skewers a cruiser dead-center, battering its shields down in one shot and setting its running lights flickering. "Fire, fore tube!" A spread of quantum torpedoes shrieks into space, and five detonations in rapid succession rip it to fragments.

"Switch to the other one, finish it off!" The other lead cruiser is floundering, its shields failing under Garok and the _Avenger_ -class USS _Aldebaran_ 's assault. Tess locks on and hits it with the saucer and starboard nacelle phasers. The warp core detonates and the ship is incinerated in a single blinding flash.

" _Two more cruisers, raiders are broken,_ " says D'trel. " _Kanril, take Perry and Sloan and hammer that cruiser on the right, I'm taking Garok and Bovanovitch to the left with K'Rokar, we're breaking that bastard._ "

The cruiser turns to meet us and its fire hisses into our forward shields. "Shields holding, eighty-three percent!" Gaarra calls.

" _Captain Hollis to any ship in Sector Zero-Four-One, need backup!_ "

"D'trel, that's Yarlin's flag captain!" I tell her.

" _Stay on target, Kanril! I need your ship to break that cruiser!_ " She's terse, audibly stressed, and worried—for good reason. More gates have opened and the Heralds' numbers are mounting.

"Regent _,_ Warsaw _, we're on our way._ " On the plot a trio of tactical escorts from 98 Wing break off and move to support the flagship. I can hear D'trel swearing faintly as the _Aldebaran_ tanks a hit from the cruiser that the Romulan's half of the strike group is targeting; there isn't a second hit, as the escorts, raptor, and battlecruisers rip through the shields and hull of the enemy ship with their next volley.

One-on-one, the Herald ships are more powerful than ours. Herald cruisers are even a threat to the _Bajor_. But we have the advantage of coordination, something the Heralds seem to lack—something that I note to myself as the cruiser we're targeting begins to burn from Perry and Sloan's weapons fire and my phasers.

"Tess, torpedo, dead center."

"With pleasure, ma'am."

A quantum warhead leaps out across space. The Herald ships seem to have little if any point-defense or ECM despite their powerful shields and weapons and array of offensive electronic warfare gear, and this cruiser is no exception. It takes the torpedo in the central firing tube and detonates.

" _Regroup!_ " orders D'trel. Despite our initial successes, the enemy by now has a massive numerical advantage. The _Regent_ , especially, is taking heavy fire from two Herald battleships. " _Move to reinforce the flagship!_ "

Captain Hollis screams on the comms, " _Shields are dead! I can't hold iiiit!_ "

Hollis' voice vanishes in static as a raider crashes into the hull blister containing the bridge. Moments later a lance of light skewers the _Regent_ and it vanishes in a fireball.

As D'trel hollers that she's assuming command, I bellow to the communications officer, "Esplin, get me a channel to Starfleet Command, now!"

"Channel open, ma'am!"

"Command, this is USS _Bajor_. Broken Arrow. Repeat, Broken Arrow. Allied forces in danger of being overrun!"

" _Kanril, get over to the station and hold off those raiders, they're trying to gate infantry onto the station!_ " barks D'trel over the fleet link. " _Garok, Sloan, K'Rokar, assist Kanril and defend her from enemy cruisers! Bovanovitch, Perry, there's a battleship on the right flank, we're going to take it out._ Mogai _-wing formation, we'll put me in the beak, Bovanovitch, take left, Perry, right. Come up from the south._ "

D'trel's flagship reorients in space, and the _Aldebaran_ and _Tarsem Gau_ follow, angling up towards the Herald battleship from its rear at a sixty-degree angle. The enemy heavy tries to turn, but D'trel fires one of those supercharged plasma torpedoes that the Romulans put on some of their _T'varo_ s and the Herald ship's shields fall, the hull burning and cracking under the assault of superheated plasma. I don't see what happens next; I'm busy with my own fight. "Tess, get that raider out of my face!"

"Locked! Firing!" Three blasts from the dorsal phaser hammer into the little ship, punching a hole through its shields and skewering something important. The engines flame out and it goes ballistic, careening out of the battlespace in a wild tumble.

"Captain," Esplin interrupts, "I have a text-only response from Command—"

"Short version!" I snap. "Where are our reinforcements?"

"There _aren't_ any reinforcements! We're it!"

My tac plot blares. A cruiser astern. "Garok, there's a bogey locked on my rear!"

" _Already on it,_ " growls the Klingon. " _Sloan, target the weapons. Fire!_ "

The cruiser turns to face the new threat, a predatory Klingon battlecruiser and sleek _Tempest_ -class swooping in and breaching the shields on its starboard side. Seconds later a _Defiant_ wolfpack comes in with a barrage of quantum torpedoes and smashes it to fragments.

"Tess, three raiders, travelling in a pack, port side. Give 'em a broadside!"

"I see them!"

The raiders explode as the phasers thrum again. One makes it through, barely, but the Klingon raptor covering us from "above" blasts it to bits with those deadly fore cannons.

"Battleship's down, but there's another wave coming in," growls D'trel over the comlink, voice taut with rage and concentration. "Maintain roles—Bovanovitch, watch your flanks there."

"Tess, I don't like the look of that fighter pack."

The phasers fire. The Herald fighters vaporize. Herald ships aren't advanced enough that their little fighters can withstand Starfleet's most advanced phaser banks fired with all the power of a line battleship.

"Thank you. Six raiders coming in on vector three-one-zero mark two-six. They don't make it past us."

It continues in that vein for the next several minutes. D'trel keeps us mostly on raider duty, but she calls us several times to hammer the fore shields of larger Herald ships that get too close while the escorts get them from the rear. As she gets a better feel for the Heralds and their tactics, she starts calling the lighter cruisers into tag-teaming Herald cruisers or packs of raiders around a single cruiser.

Frankly, the Heralds don't seem to be that great at tactics. Some are clearly smart enough to use basic tactics and to try to avoid getting shot, but by and large the attack is disorganized and focused primarily on hammering our starbase and ships with the firepower that the Heralds can bring to bear. There's little coordination, not even the fluid, shifting kind that D'trel favors, which is probably the main reason we're doing as well as we are.

But even so, we have a small task force and a space station, with a small defense group to support us. And more Heralds keep gating in.

Ten minutes in, D'trel has the _Bajor_ and the two Klingons escort a pod of runabouts and a couple freighters that are making a run for it, carrying as many personnel as can be evacuated from the station. Our shields are taking a beating and the structural integrity field is flashing warning signs, but we're alive, even after a Herald cruiser, a battleship, and a pack of fighters decide to try their luck with us.

But as we turn to return to the station, I hear the com signal from the starbase.

" _Admiral D'trel, this is Control. Fall back to New Romulus, repeat, fall back to New Romulus._ "

"Captain Appiah—" I start.

" _Kanril, we've got everyone off who can get off and there's thirty million people on that planet who need starship cover! Meet up with Commodore Paris at New Romulus. I'll hold them off as long as I can!_ "

There's a pause. D'trel's voice is grim as she gives the orders: " _Fall back! All ships, form up and fall back!_ "

"Give 'em Hell, Captain," I tell him. "Prophets walk with you." I turn to Lieutenant Park as the ship shakes around us. "Park, disengage, quick as you can, and set course for New Romulus."

The ragged survivors of the fight, two dozen capital ships, about forty birds-of-prey and _T'varo_ s, and a little less than three hundred fighters, shoot their way clear, with the _Bajor_ providing cover fire as we pull back and go to warp. The Iconians don't follow, intent on finishing Appiah off.

The fight is no longer visible, but we're still within sensor range, and Wiggin calls out weapon reports. First torpedo barrages, and then the starbase's main phasers, several times more powerful than anything you can fit on a starship, finally come into play. One battleship falls, then another cruiser. Even one of those dreadnoughts vanishes from the plot. But the Heralds just keep coming.

"Captain," Esplin quietly says, "I'm picking up a transmission from Captain Appiah."

His voice is distorted by static and the sound of gunfire. " _Hope you're well away, Kanril. Shields are failing, Environmental just took a hit, and we've lost the number two phaser. We have boarders on decks five through nine, trying to get into the computers. I've thrown everything I've got, wish it could've been more. Initiating self-destruct sequence. Godspeed._ "

Then the sensors register the station's fusion reactors going supercritical.

* * *

 _Ch'Mol'Rihan orbit, two hours later._

Only a small force of Iconian Heralds had reached the adopted Rihan homeworld when D'trel's task force got there. They bullrushed the hastily gathered fleet in orbit and punched through with sheer velocity, scattering some kind of self-propelled beacons into the atmosphere around the Hwael Ruins. " _Romulan and Kobali ground forces are converging on their position but they're short of heavy armor support,_ " Commodore Paris finished explaining as his USS _Mercury_ joined their group and took point.

"Mercury _,_ Bajor _. We're carrying some anti-tank missiles we can send down, leftovers from the Delta Quadrant. I'll have Ops start replicating more, and we'll deploy everything we've got as soon as we're in transporter range._ "

D'trel grimaced. What she wouldn't give for one of those _Lloannen'galae_ T-204 tanks the Bah'jorha had brought to Kobali Prime right now. But anti-armor missiles would suffice.

Three cruisers, one battleship, and a few dozen raiders. Survivable odds.

"Right. Nothing complicated. Punch through, evade their main guns. Bajor, clear out the trash, raiders and sabotage probes, then take on the battleship as a distraction, try to force them to redirect power to the fore shields. Sloan, K'Rokar, Garok, Bovanovitch, handle the cruisers. Only one battleship—Paris, you up for a flanking attack?"

" _Yes, sir,_ " replied the Human. " _We're taking it down?_ "

"Yes. _Mogai_ -wing formation, I'm head, you're right wing and anchor, Perry's left wing. Use the _Bajor_ as cover, get below, target the engine blocks—those seem to be weak points."

" _Understood, sir. Forming up._ "

"Kholhr _, this is_ Khre'Riov _t'Thavrau. My squadron will assist._ "

"The more the merrier, Subadmiral," Zel answered. Min'tak'allan's chuckle turned into a cough halfway through. The kid was always trying to be more professional.

D'trel spoke one word: "Attack."

The two visible formations crashed into each other in a kaleidoscope of beams, bolts, and torpedoes. At the core, Kanril's battleship, far larger than the _Kholhr_ , spat lance after lance at its enemy counterpart, spending its quantum torpedoes with abandon.

"Keep it steady, K'Rokar," D'trel said. "Zel, watch that cruiser-"

"Vengeance _,_ Mercury!" Paris radioed. " _You've got one on your tail, thirty klicks aft!_ "

"I saw him! I saw him!" Zel answered. The Breen hurled the little warbird into a corkscrewing hairpin turn as a salvo of cannonfire battered the aft shields, managing to evade the worst of it. " _Shtel_ , this guy's good. _Jul'tah_ cruiser, flying it like a fighter…"

A new, male voice broke into the channel in Rihan. "Kholhr _, on my mark, pull up._ "

Zel stopped cursing midway through an inventive combination of the Tzenkethi version of the verb "to copulate" and the Talarian noun often translated as "feces". If a Breen helmet could smile, xir helmet would have. "Understood, Commander tr'Sauringar. I'll keep her nice and level until then, but make it fast."

"Three, two, one, mark!" Zel hauled back hard on the stick as an enormous _D'deridex_ -class warbird dissolved out of empty space, its forward battery already glowing with terajoules of energy. As the two ships passed each other close enough their shields struck sparks, the _Aen'rhien_ fired and cored the pursuing cruiser from stem to stern.

"Good shot, there," D'trel congratulated the _Aen'rhien_ 's gunner as a trio of _Dhael_ -class warbirds and an _Ar'Kif_ -class carrier decloaked alongside and took up guard positions, the carrier already disgorging its load of Scorpions. "Perry, Paris, reform formation; Kanril, keep holding that battleship's attention. We're taking it down."

" _Yes, **sir**!_ " Kanril's voice was eager.

"Move in, full impulse!"

The three escorts slipped under the Federation battleship's hull, diving a dozen kellicams before spinning around into an "upwards" lunge. "Above", the battleship's shields were weakening, the Herald commander frantically diverting power to absorb the _Bajor_ 's assault.

D'trel smiled the feral grin of a hungry shark. "Wait for it."

Twenty kellicams, the engine blocks straight ahead. Ten. Five.

"Open fire!"

A blitzkrieg of plasma, phaser, and disruptor blasts pounded into the Herald ship's ventral shields; already weakened, they flared and died in under a second.

"Torpedoes!" shouted D'trel, unnecessarily in the case of her own vessel as First Omek'ti'kallan had already launched three high-yield plasma torpedoes straight into the Herald ship's exposed engines.

The Herald ship's engine blocks burned, then cracked—and the entire massive vessel detonated, its core erupting in a gout of flame as the systems short-circuited.

"We take that cruiser next. K'Rokar, Sloan, Bovanovitch, the other cruiser. Kanril, operate as a base, target the raiders. Garok, cover Kanril. T'Thavrau, provide support wherever you're needed. Move."

The three escorts streaked "upwards", evading Herald weapons fire with nimble ease, then curled around behind the chaotic mess of the Herald "formation", headed for the rear of one of the remaining cruisers.

"Nice and easy, same plan," said D'trel calmly. "On my mark."

"He's trying to shake us," warned Zel. "Couple of raiders coming our—never mind, thank you, Kanril."

" _My pleasure._ "

"Stay on target. Weapons hot. Engine pod, again."

Herald turrets fired, and sirens blared as the little warbird's shields shimmered, but the Herald vessel was too forward-heavy to defend effectively against a rear attack and too clumsy to evade three escorts.

"Fire."

The cannons blazed, and the vessel erupted. D'trel checked her tac plot again. The other cruiser was disabled, leaking atmo and adrift into open space. Good, maybe they'd be able to learn something useful from it. "Clean 'em up, then start beaming teams down. First, get our men suited up for heavy combat, and bring the explosives."

"Shall I bring the grenade launcher?" rumbled the Jem'Hadar. "Or would that be too bulky?"

"Bring it. You or I can handle it. We can always ditch it and pick it up later if it becomes a liability."

D'trel looked over the plot again. Without the support of cruisers or battleships, the Herald raiders fell easily. Mopping up would be a short business.

"T'Thavrau, I want your group to monitor for new gateway signatures as soon as we've cleared the last few raiders. Two dozen of them left, let's finish this."

The torpedoes were set for a full spread. D'trel smiled. First Omek'ti'kallan knew what cheered her up. For a given value of cheer, at least.

The remaining Herald raiders lasted maybe a minute. Most of that was taken up by one ship zigging and zagging across the battlefield, trying to get behind one of the smaller ships. It was pinned, however, by a phaser beam and a plasma blast from _Bajor_ and _Kholhr_ before it could do so.

"Good work. Begin beaming down away teams. LZ is hot, so go in armed for Klingon saber bear. I'm headed for the transporter room."

* * *

"Kanril!"

"High Admiral?" the Bajoran asked, flipping up the visor on a MACO-issue hardsuit as D'trel jogged up. She was surrounded by a small group of gray-clad Starfleet Security troopers.

"This seems to be the only place the Heralds have landed—they're ignoring the city completely—and Paris got an unusual reading from the caves. I want you on my team to go down; you'll be hunting with Joh'Kghan and Jak here. I'm with Omek and Daysnur."

A burly Nausicaan and a muscular _turak_ huntress lifted weapons in a quick salute.

"Alright. The rest of my team can secure the surface. Dul'krah," she said to a towering, horned alien D'trel didn't recognize, "you have command."

"Sir," the alien acknowledged in a deep voice, then began directing the soldiers, who jogged off deeper into the woods towards the sound of gunfire.

"Good. Let's—"

"Gateway opening!" barked the Nausicaan, grabbing his disruptor compression rifle as his tricorder started beeping frantically.

"Defensive positions, around the cave!" barked D'trel, cocking the Sig Sauer nine-millimeter automatic pistol that she'd brought with her and ducking behind a rock.

The gateway opened, and D'trel held up a fist.

"On my command!"

A tall, slender shape flew through, ornate things that might've been armor attached to its body.

"FOOLISH CHILDREN!" it thrummed. "I AM L'MIREN THE ETERNAL, FOREMOST OF THE FOURTH OF SIX CASTES, LORD OF MAGNIFICENCE, INDOMITABLE SUZERAIN OF—"

It stopped, and looked around. "HEY, WHERE IN THE NAME OF ETERNAL GRAND SUPREME HIGH EMPEROR DESTINED-FOR-GLORIOUS-DEEDS ARE THE SERVITORS?"

"Open fire!" barked D'trel.

The Iconian turned, just in time to have its forehead blown open by a nine-millimeter frag round. As it screamed in agony, a hail of energy weapons fire shredded its body.

Kanril lowered her gun a couple of centimeters, the emission tube smoking a little. "Prophets, who talks like that?"

"Believe me, Captain," rumbled Omek'ti'kallan, "that was nothing. Do you know of the Iconian that attacked Qo'noS in January? The Supreme Lord that called itself fated for greatness?"

"Yeah, why?"

"High Admiral D'trel has killed him twice, now. And he is a _thousand times_ more melodramatic than that one was."

"You've got to be joking," replied the Bajoran. "Nobody's _that_ hammy."

First Omek'ti'kallan made a rumbling noise not unlike a quiet chuckle. "I promise you, Captain, that the one I speak of is. I personally witnessed him become angry at another Iconian for killing a Romulan who he had been describing his greatness to before he was finished. They may have actually tried to kill each other if High Admiral D'trel had not ordered us to open fire."

"Alright, let's move it!" ordered D'trel, having reloaded all of her numerous weapons. "Into the caves, secure the gate!"

* * *

 _Mars Defense Perimeter, Sol System._

" _So, you're sure this is going to work, Admiral Taitt?_ " Fleet Admiral Quinn's voice asked over the comm.

"Am I sure? Not hardly," Rear Admiral Zandra Taitt answered. "But if this works, zero casualties and we lose one ship that was set for scrap anyway." The willowy black woman was standing on the bridge of the USS _Caelian_ , one of the eight original _Vesta_ -class ships, which had been badly damaged over Vaadwaur Prime: half the decks were still open to space and the shields and main fire control were completely dead. Unlike most of Starfleet Science's current admiralty, Taitt was a combat veteran, with almost as many decorations for courage under fire as for scientific achievements. She'd faced the Borg on the _Enterprise_ -D less than a year out of Starfleet Academy, and after incinerating a Borg ship with a solar flare not much scared her anymore. She continued, " _Bajor_ 's sensor data on the Iconian gates indicates they use a—"

Fleet Admiral Quinn's sigh manifested over the comm as a burst of static. " _Save it, Zandra; I didn't understand a word the first time you explained it. All right, you have a go. Good luck._ "

Rear Admiral Taitt smiled, softly. "Yes, sir. Conn, get us to the coordinates of that subspace anomaly. Deflector control?"

" _Here, sir,_ " came a voice through the internal comm. " _Sir, the gateway's opening!_ "

"Oh, no."

"Sir?" the conn officer queried worriedly.

"We should've had more _warning_!"

" _Command to_ Caelian _, what's going on out there?_ "

"Sorry, Quinn, not going to be zero casualties, after all," Taitt muttered grimly. She slapped her combadge. "Anybody nonessential who can reach a lifeboat, go now! Conn, full impulse!"

"All ahead full," the conn officer confirmed. "It's been an honor, sir."

The _Caelian_ screamed towards the edge of the opening Iconian gateway, a blue disc in space. Beyond was a vast, empty expanse, a thousand Herald battleships, a titanic dreadnought, and the distant star of a Dyson Sphere.

"Deflector control, begin the cascade and then run for the lifeboats!" But she knew there was no way anyone who wasn't already off would live through this.

At least it would be quick.

As the ship's bow intersected the portal, _Caelian_ 's deflector dish glowed, and flashed. The gateway, and the battered but still-sleek ship halfway through it, vanished from Earth space.

Zandra Taitt died smiling in satisfaction. Meanwhile, Supreme High Lord Light-of-a-Thousand-Suns barely had time to utter a surprised curse as the black hole's gravity tore his entire fleet to atoms around him.

* * *

This is quite possibly the oddest away team I've ever been on, not to mention the deepest underground I've ever been.

We reach the first crevice, left here by the Iconian-induced tectonic event during the gateway incident. The Nausicaan clambers down first, lowered halfway down the crevice on the strange alien's tail. He lands with a bit of a grunt, but stands easily.

"Ground's stable, pass her down."

"Pass…" I manage before the burly _creature_ grabs me with its—her?—prehensile tail and heaves me bodily over the edge.

"...Winds damn it, fucking ask her first!" grumbles the Nausicaan, now about a foot from my involuntarily-yelping face.

" _Yab doj nil? Onchut kortak notaj?_ " asks the alien from above me.

"She's not Pack, not like us! She's damn Federation, they do things all formal! Alright, just drop her, I'll catch—"

I drop, and the Nausicaan makes good on his word. He puts me down on my feet fast, too. Smart man.

The alien drops down herself, with the ease of an arboreal creature. It/she looks apologetic. "My apologies," it rasps, deep and guttural. "I am not very familiar with your Federation's traditions. I presumed that you were to be treated as Pack, like my comrades on the _Vengeance_."

"No offense taken, but warn me next time," I say. The Nausicaan chuckles.

"Ready, Captain?"

I heft my MACO rifle, which hums the sweet hum of impending death. "Always." I start walking down the tunnel.

"I'm on your six," grunts the Nausicaan around his fangs, sliding a fresh power cell into his disruptor and cocking the weapon on my right. On my left, the other alien is eerily silent, holding a shield of all things and a kinetic pistol, with a spear strapped to her back.

"Good. Uh...what's with…"

"Joh'Kghan's species prefers to avoid unnecessary noise while on the hunt. We'd be considered incompetent, impolite morons among her kind right now, actually. Big stupid noisy talkers that we are."

" _Yoj torkh'Snâga,_ " snarls Joh'Kghan. Her voice is incredibly deep and guttural, something I'd expect from a giant professional wrestler, not a five-foot-zero offspring of a Terran baboon and a naked ape. "Oversized preyfood _duhin-kon_. You lumber so, and cannot stop your bellowing."

"Lumber? More like waddle," snorts the Nausicaan, his snarling voice professionally quiet. "Why, after that death-by-chocolate cake they were serving—wait." He stops and holds up a hand, voice dropping several decibels and his tone becoming deadly serious. "Movement, in the reflection, that bit of glass, three o'clock."

We go silent, moving over towards the wall.

The Nausicaan holds up a hand. No fancy signs, now. Just fingers.

I hold my rifle to my chest and nod. He grins, in that horrible split-mouthed way of Nausicaans.

 _Three. Two. One._

I take two steps out from beyond cover, my phaser rifle humming, and drill a hole through the first armored figure. I must've hit something important, because its glowing core flares and collapses.

The Nausicaan sprays a volley of high-velocity fullerened antimatter packets from his autocarbine, catching another suit as its shields buzz up. The third charges, in a clanking, robotic manner unlike any living thing I've ever seen.

Joh'Kghan impales it with her spear. The lights flicker. She snarls, and grabs her spear with her tail, then pulls its head off with her free hand. The lights got dark, and it stops moving.

Suit number four is coming for me. I bring my rifle to bear, but it's getting too close…

Then it's knocked sideways by another shot from the Nausicaan. I react quickly, holing it with my rifle.

"Good shooting," grunts the Nausicaan appreciatively. A professional admiring good work.

Joh'Kghan stabs one of the bits of metal with her bluish metal spear. "What kind of prey is this? You can't eat metal!" She sounds genuinely insulted. "They actually sent dead metal against us and expected it to make us its prey? The formal language has no words for that level of _chongkut_ stupidity and arrogance!"

I quietly grunt my agreement. The Nausicaan snickers and makes a complicated series of gestures with his unarmed hand. Joh'Kghan signs something else back.

"What was that?" I ask, unfamiliar with this sign language.

The Nausicaan's tusks twitch in his species' version of a blush. "Sexual themes, sir. Sexual themes. Too delicate for your Federation sensibilities."

I snort. "Try me, _jok an chak shattuk noj_."

He starts, then snickers, his fanged maw splitting in a wide grin. "Okay, you got some guramba in your blood, Captain. I was suggesting that the Iconians like to _turkut_ their equivalents of _duhin-kon_ —an animal from her planet—and she said that they don't even have the excuse of being perverts, they're just that dumb."

I nod philosophically. "Based on what I've seen so far, that makes sense."

The Nausicaan snickers again. The alien flashes another lightning-quick hand sign.

I don't ask for a translation.

D'trel's team is coming in through the back path, an escape tunnel that was dug after the collapse of the gateway cavern during the _incident_ last year. Our job is to knock on the front door.

"Herald attack group, through the next door," grunts the Nausicaan, tapping his eyepiece. I nod slightly, seeing the heat signatures on my own HUD. The alien just grins-if that lips-pulled-back-from-fangs ghastly maw can be called a grin. It shoulders the spear in exchange for a wicked-looking projectile gun. Its tail curls into a strange shape, then twitches in a pattern.

"Game on," growls the Nausicaan. He's using an antiproton autocarbine, part of an Omega Force standard-issue armor set popular with MACOs in assault roles. The primary shot function blows the door to splinters. The following spread volley setting smashes into the Heralds' personal shields like a tide of fire.

Four more armor suits and a titanic beast like the ones I've seen outside—my HUD pegs it as a class-four, or Defiler. Herald light armored artillery.

My regular gun's probably useless, so I pull the pins on an entire cluster of proton grenades and throw them into the cluster of Heralds just as the Defiler raises its staff. The resulting impact shreds its shields, splinters the armored suits, and sends the great beast reeling with a roar.

Joh'Kghan, or however that name is spelled and pronounced, plugs it in three of its eyes with her projectile gun. Impressive, for sighting one-handed with a shield.

The Defiler screams in agony, pulling up its glowing staff again, but the next antiproton blast hits it in the face. Blinded now, its head a burned ruin, it shrieks with rage and pain until I lob another grenade into the open mouth.

Lucky shot.

The blast is somewhat muffled, but the result is very impressive.

"Main chamber's up ahead," remarks the Nausicaan. "Nice throw there."

I grunt my acknowledgement. Joh'Kghan sniffs the Herald's corpse, then snarls.

"You not up for eating that?" asks the Nausicaan.

"Let it rot, and endure a thousand years trapped in its body before it reaches _Ungkat_ ," snarls the alien. "Smells like poison, too. Not worth trying."

My ear com chimes, and the Nausicaan puts his hand up to his own ear-hole.

" _Kanril, this is D'trel. We're in position in the rear, reading two class-ones and a class-five near the gateway. Looks like they're trying to hack the consoles, the gateway's powering up._ "

"We're ready, sir," I reply after quick nods from the Nausicaan and the alien. "We're one corridor out, just took out some Heralds. You want us to provide the distraction?"

" _You have grenades?_ "

"Yes, sir."

" _Good. Open with those, class-fives are effectively armored artillery._ "

We move in. The Herald Harbinger is visible through the open door; its back is turned.

Wow, that's arrogant.

"Jak, right?"

"Yeah," grunts the Nausicaan.

"Soften up his shields for me, will you?"

"My pleasure."

The Nausicaan moves forward carefully, me and the alien just behind. His gun is raised, sighted at the Herald. I know that the effective range on those things isn't great; that's an assault trooper's weapon, not a sniper rifle.

I unbuckle my grenade belt in preparation.

The armor suits must spot us, because they start moving for the center of the room, in front of the gateway. The Harbinger, or class-five as my HUD helpfully pegs it, turns and glides toward us.

"PUNY—"

Its incipient melodramatic rant about our insignificance is cut off by the antiproton volley impacting with its shields. The bombastic speech peters off in a howl of rage, and it raises its staff.

"Fire in the hole!"

My grenade belt comes with an attachment that lets me pull all the pins at once. I tug this eminently useful little tab, and throw all twenty remaining grenades into the fray.

Oh, right. I had plasma grenades in there.

Oops.

The explosion of fire, antimatter, and superheated plasma knocks the Herald flat on its ass, howling in pain and rage. The suits move forward, but are swiftly holed by Joh'Kghan, who has figured out where to shoot them for what looks like maximum effect.

" ** _I AM A SERVANT OF SUPREME HIGH LORD INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS!_** " howls the Herald, hauling itself to its feet. " _ **YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY—**_ "

" _Oh, shut_ up _,_ " grumbles D'trel over the comm in my ear as her pistol sounds. The Herald's head erupts as she empties the clip into it; the frag-tipped rounds impact with its relatively-unprotected rear with the shields down and tear it to gory shreds.

"Nice shooting, sir," I comment.

"Thank you," she says, walking over to us. "Daysnur, Jak, check the computers. Kanril, Joh'Kghan, stand guard with Omek and me."

Daysnur, the Lethean, taps at one of the control consoles for the gate, then curses inventively in about six languages. "Sir! They're headed for Lae'nas III. The Preserver archive!"

" _Ariennye_ ," curses D'trel. "Only one reason they'd send a ground force there—intel. D'trel to Paris! Gather up the away teams, then get your team and my strike group to the transwarp gate and get to Lae'nas III as fast as you can! We're going to take the direct route."

"Direct route?" rumbles the Jem'Hadar, D'trel's XO if I remember correctly.

D'trel points at the gateway, now at full power. "Direct route."

The Jem'Hadar smiles like a hungry shark as he understands the plan. I do, too—it's a good plan, the Iconians are probably too arrogant to monitor gateway traffic. We'll get there before they can do too much damage.

"Jak, Daysnur, fire it up. Omek, Kanril, Joh'Kghan, with me. Jak, Daysnur, once we're through you follow."

The Jem'Hadar motions me to his left. "Captain. I will guard the High Admiral's flank. Will you protect mine?"

"Yeah. Kanril Eleya, by the way. Captain of the _Bajor_."

"I am honored to meet you at last. I am First Omek'ti'kallan, servant of glorious Odo'Ital, first officer of the _Vengeance_."

"'At last'? I hope you haven't heard the bad stuff."

He smiles, quite warmly for a Jem'Hadar, as he double-checks his polaron gun. Before us, the gateway fires up. "You are frequently the subject of irate talk show hosts, much like D'trel. I concluded that any officer who receives such coverage while still commanding a successful ship could not be _that_ bad."

"There's a reason I picked you, Garok, and Perry," says D'trel as she lines up slightly ahead and to the right of the Jem'Hadar. "Garok's probably the single most competent battlecruiser commander the Klingons sent to the Delta Quadrant, and top-three overall after Ja'rod and maybe Worf. John Perry's one of the top five heavy escort commanders in the Federation and has experience with overwhelming odds, and you're a top capital commander with a record full of quick thinking. I told Kagran and tr'Kererek when they floated this plan to me that I had a short list for who I wanted on my strike team, and they got me three off the top."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it. Ready?"

We're short-circuited by a voice on the comm. " _D'trel, this is tr'Kererek! I need you back on your warbird—the Heralds are back, in force this time!_ "

" _Phekk._ "

D'trel growls deep in her throat as she snatches for her communicator. " _Rekkhai_ , I'm afraid I have something more important to do!"

" _That's an_ order _! We lose this ground, we lose it all!_ "

"No, _rekkhai_! The Heralds may want the planet but the Iconians want the Preserver archive, and they want it badly. If we can save it we deny them vital intelligence, and maybe get some ourselves."

There's silence for a minute. " _Are you willing to risk the lives of everyone on this planet if you're wrong?_ "

She answers without hesitation, "I'd stake my _mnhei'sahe_ on my belief that I'm right, _Khre'Enriov_. They _want_ the Archive, and they want it _badly_."

Tr'Kererek audibly sighs. "Fvadt _. Very well. But if you get there and there's nothing militarily useful—_ "

"I'll come back immediately and start killing Heralds, _rekkhai_." She closes the channel. "Wonder why nobody thought to try maybe analyzing or hacking that archive already," she mutters. "I went to enough damn trouble fighting Thot Trel over the thing… All right, for real this time, are you ready to go?"

We sound off. The Romulan's grin is feral. Savage. Nothing like the vague frown that she's been wearing, or the easy smile she traded with the Jem'Hadar.

That's an old Resistance fighter, about to lob a bomb into a Cardassian army barracks.

"Let's hunt."

* * *

 _Vulcan system. 2100 hours Federation standard time, June 8th, 2410._

"Admiral Tuvok?" asked VanZyl with concern. On the viewscreen, an Iconian fleet approached—an impossibly huge Herald dreadnought, a pack of about ten battleships, and swarms of cruisers and raiders like clouds of vicious insects around the behemoths. Against those odds the small force of VDF and Starfleet vessels gathered between them and Vulcan would be swiftly overwhelmed.

Tuvok swam back from his mental conversation. His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"I believe, Lieutenant Commander, that we are about to receive some assistance."

"Sir?" asked the Trill in confusion.

Tuvok was about to explain when the communications officer squeaked. "Admiral Tuvok! We're being hailed by the Iconians!"

Tuvok's mouth twitched upwards again. One intimately familiar with Vulcan facial expressions would have recognized the equivalent of a manic grin. "Onscreen."

An image of a deep burgundy Iconian, this one with yellow sparks tracing through its translucent body, appeared on screen. It laughed, deep and maniacal.

" _AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! Puny inferior beings! You cannot possibly imagine the infinite dignity of High Lord Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life! Your end of days has come! For I shall annihilate your puny world with but a thought, and there is nothing that you pathetic, quivering servitors can possibly do to stop the inevitable victory of my magnificent glory! PREPARE TO MEET YOUR—_ "

It cut off as a thousand voices sounded mentally, a wave of thought crashing through the minds of every sentient present.

 _ **THE WEAK WILL PERISH!**_

High Lord Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life gurgled in terror and turned, screaming for the dreadnought to reorient, but far, far too late.

A hole in space opened up on the planet-killer's flank, and nine Undine bioships flew out in an octagonal formation.

 _ **AND YOU ARE WEAK. DEATH TO THE CORRUPT, TO KILLERS OF HATCHLINGS, TO THOSE WHO DARE TO THINK THAT THEY CAN RULE US. SLAY THEM ALL!**_

Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life screamed wordlessly, and a blast of eye-searingly bright heat and light erupted from the central bioship, blasting the dreadnought in half and tearing through a half-dozen Herald battleships that got too close to the corsucating beam.

Tuvok couldn't help but smile, insofar as a slight twitch of one side of his mouth was a smile, at the next message from the Undine.

 _WE HAVE ARRIVED, TINY STRONG CLUTCH-MATE TUVOK. THE MANY WILL SURVIVE. THE WEAK WILL PERISH._

* * *

"...and then perhaps another paragraph detailing the magnificent deeds of my illustrious father, and then I can leave the Heralds to destroy my enemies as I watch some _Supreme Conqueror_ …"

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness was having a good day. With his infinite fleet, even the puny servitors that had previously been able to defeat his magnificent brilliance and awe-inspiring power would be crushed, brought crashing to the broken ground! His fleet was so great and so mighty that, as per Iconian tradition, he would, after introducing himself with an eloquent speech describing the barest hints of the full extent of his imponderable perfection, sit back and watch some cartoons for the duration of the battle, then take all the credit for the brilliant strategy that had defeated the pathetic lesser beings.

It was a good life, he felt, as he stroked his mustachio, tapped his computer screen to save the lines for his speech, and leaned back to revel in his perfection. Truly fitting for one of his magnificent visage, incredible sexual potency, and incomprehensible brilliance.

"O magnificent and brilliant Supreme High Lord, mighty sovereign of a thousand worlds, may this pathetic and puny lesser being please suggest a strategy for your perfect consideration?"

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness was jolted out of his daydream of his own brilliance by a small, pale Herald Thrall, which was holding a personal data device and a small rectangular thing that Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness didn't recognize.

For a moment, he considered smiting the servitor down for interrupting him and its relatively informal greeting, but given the fawning tone, the insignificant creature was probably here to describe his incredible brilliance. Perhaps next time.

"What is it, puny being?"

"O Mighty One, I know that I, Servitor 18754, am but a foolish and pathetic novice before your incredible brilliance and tactical genius, but I was wondering if you had seen this satellite data?"

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness sighed internally. Great. _Work_.

He levitated the data device into his hand, and flipped through it.

"What is this?"

"O Mighty Lord, I took it upon my insignificant self to analyze this data from the last, ah, _incident_ —the one where the puny servitor caused your divine self to be momentarily injured?"

It actually took Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness a moment to realize that this must be a reference to his last death.

"Of course. That pathetic being will pay for its perfidious attack!"

"Of course, my Lord, of course, and who better to destroy it than a tactical genius of your magnificent caliber? But I was not sure, my Lord, if you were aware of this data, which indicates the identity and capabilities of that servitor Admiral's ship?"

"What is this 'tactics' of which you speak?" asked Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness in genuine confusion.

"O Majestic One, your jest is wondorously hilarious… your mastery of tactics and your brilliant military leadership are a legend among us lowly Heralds! Oh, and my Lord… I thought that you might in your undying majesty and genius appreciate this?" It held up the object, which Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness recognized as a primitive "book", a device still used by some servitors and other lesser beings. He took it, cautiously, wary of being infected by the pollution of lesser beings.

The title read, in a primitive language of puny lesser beings, _The Art of War_.

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness decided to cover his ignorance with bluster.

"I do appreciate your offering to my divine self, puny creature," thrummed the Iconian. "Now back to your station! In appreciation for your dedication to my infinite majesty, I shall… _read_ this… thing. Glory to Me! Glory to the Iconian Empire!"

"Glory to Thee, O glorious Supreme High Lord Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness," hissed the servitor, bowing and scraping as it retreated. "Truly, your infinite majesty shall rule over all worlds!"

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness never saw the Herald's sly smile as he opened the book.


	4. A Light in the Darkness

**Chapter 3: A Light in the Darkness**

 _IKS_ Taj _, Qo'noS orbit._

Worf, son of Mogh, stood at the helm of his battlecruiser and scowled.

Ja'rod, son of Lursa, voiced their shared opinion of the battle before them. "J'mpoq Qang is a fool as well as a dishonorable targ. I cannot _believe_ I allied Duras to his House. Would it really kill him to use intelligent tactics instead of mindlessly charging?"

Worf didn't laugh. He simply growled. "An enemy such as this cannot be met with force. The Iconian yIntaghpu' are without skill or courage, but they have power. Better to strike their flanks and cover the approach with cloaking mines as the Federation did to the wormhole during the Dominion War. There is no honor in a stupid, pointless death."

Ja'rod grunted in agreement. "'The wind does not respect a fool.' You're sure this will work?"

"No," growled Worf. "But it is our best chance. And if it fails, at least we will die well."

"True," noted Ja'rod. "'There is no greater death than a death in defense of House and home.'"

"Kahless the Unforgettable," noted Worf with an almost-smile.

"My lord!" called a young Klingon bekk from the communications station. "BrokoS Sa' and his fleet are in position and ready to engage!"

"All ships, this is Worf, son of Mogh. Today, warriors, you reclaim your honor in glorious battle! Stay in your formations and follow the battle plan, or I will kill you myself. Glory to the Empire! _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!_ "

Sixty thousand Klingon throats roared over the commlink in response. Ja'rod's mouth twitched.

"I think, Worf, that it is a better day for the Iconians to die."

Worf's smile was colder than the depths of interstellar space. "Indeed, Ja'rod." He held out his arm to the younger man. "Let this be the hour in which the feud between the Houses of Mogh and Duras is laid to rest at long last."

Ja'rod hesitated, then grasped Worf's forearm with his own. "I would have it no other way, Worf. We will face the enemy as brothers-in-battle." They released each others' arms and Ja'rod keyed his communicator. "Ja'rod to _Kang_. One to beam directly to the bridge."

As Ja'rod vanished in a swirl of red particles, Worf turned to the tactical display and thumbed his commlink again. "All units, commence attack!"

A hundred Klingon battlecruisers, backed up by a thousand birds-of-prey, leaped forwards, decloaking on the right flank of the Herald fleet as a thousand Nausicaan and Gorn warships and hundreds more of mercenaries and pirates from across the quadrant tore out of space on the left flank. The blitzkrieg of their weapons fire was, for that brief, glorious moment, brighter than the local sun.

It _was_ a good day for Iconians to die.

* * *

 _Lae'nas III. Preserver Archive chamber. 1800 hours Federation standard time._

First Omek'ti'kallan strode out of the gateway, an armored Bajoran guarding his flank, and saw D'trel in the process of using her sniper rifle to plug a class-three Herald, or Thrall, in the head. Being a generally sensible and practical man, he eyed the rest of the Heralds—four class-one metal suits, Herald light infantry, one class-two, enhanced metal suit, Herald heavy infantry, and one more class-three Thrall, Herald shock trooper/skirmisher-and calmly aimed his polaron assault weapon towards the class-two. He pulled the trigger, and a blast of condensed exotic particles flared out and smashed into the shields of the glowing construct. They held—Iconian technology was quite advanced, and the weapons and armor of their Heralds were extremely powerful.

It was of no consequence in this case, however, as one of the class-threes fell with a hole in its head. Captain Kanril saw the class-two charging the away team's position and squeezed off a quick shot from her DMR, rolling sideways to take cover behind some rubble as D'trel had. First Omek'ti'kallan fired again on the onrushing Herald, then stepped to the side and shrouded at the last moment.

The class-two turned with lightning speed, its optical sensors staring straight at the shrouded Jem'Hadar.

Well, it was worth a try.

Omek'ti'kallan pulled out his kar'takin with one hand as the other shouldered the gun. The Herald charged, and the Jem'Hadar simply lowered his weapon.

The Herald's "head" smashed right into the triple-hardened quadritanium blade, and one of the "eyes" sparked and burst, but the "creature" kept coming. Omek'ti'kallan sidestepped again, using the class-two's own momentum to fling it into a considerably-sized rock with enough force to fell a medium-sized hippopotamus. The Herald droid cracked and sparked, but rose again, haltingly this time.

Kanril's rifle took it through the chest, burning the control unit to ashes.

"Good shot, thank you, Captain," rumbled the Jem'Hadar over the comlink. Two class-ones were still standing, but Daysnur and Jak stepped out of the gate as Omek watched. He didn't even need to pull his gun back out.

"Alright," said D'trel. "Let's see if we can figure out why the Iconians wanted this place so badly." She clambered over to the Preserver console and activated it, the holographic Preserver interface buzzing to life...

* * *

 _Kendra Valley, Bajor. 1506 hours local time._

The Herald Harbinger was an impressive sight, striding towards a small farming village as gray-clad Bajoran Militia soldiers retreated for better cover before it, firing ineffectual bursts as they withdrew calling for backup.

" ** _PATHETIC FOOLS_**!" it roared. " ** _WE ARE THE SERVANTS OF T'KET THE INFINITE, FOREMOST OF THE RED CASTE, SENIORMOST OF THE FIFTH-OF-SIX-CASTES, LORD OF A THOUSAND WORLDS! KNEEL BEFORE THE GLORY OF THE—_** "

Then a tank shell hit it in the face and the top half of its body was liquefied.

Two kilometers away a Militia artillery spotter pulled off the headphones attached to his tricorder and turned to the tanker standing in his ride's open hatch. "'The glory of the boom'?"

"Probably some weird religious thing they have, Sergeant."

A PFC sitting on the tank's sponson cleaning his rifle laughed. "Bah. Foreign religions. Always naming their Prophets individually and shit. Mental, if you ask me."

The sergeant shook his head. "Damn Iconian minions, thinking that those arrogant idiots are enough to build a religion around. It'll never catch on, I'm telling you." He changed the subject, raising his tricorder. "Let's take out that lander before they gate anything else in." He hit his combadge. "Battery Five, this is Sierra Two-Six. Fire mission, over."

A crackly voice cut through the static left by the Iconians' gates. " _Sierra Two-Six, this is Battery Five. Fire mission, out._ "

The Heralds had destroyed the GPS satellites on their way in, so Sergeant Rokon was working off a map. "Grid CG Two-Six-Niner One-Seven-Four, direction One-One-Three-Eight, over."

" _Grid CG Two-Six-Niner One-Seven-Four, direction One-One-Three-Eight, out._ "

"Enemy landing craft and about twelve squads heavy infantry or light armor in the open, danger close, over." Well, they were calling it a "lander", but it seemed more like a focus to let the Heralds gate in their troops. Herald tech was a primitive version of Iconian tech, the squints were saying, and the Iconians were apparently too lazy to do more than the bare minimum by themselves.

" _Enemy landing craft, twelve squads heavy infantry or light armor in the open, danger close, out._ "

A new voice entered the channel. " _Sierra Two-Six, FDC. R, C, HEAT spotting round, over._ "

"Confirm, FDC."

" _Shot, over._ "

"Shot, out."

There was silence, then a whistling sound rent the air and the landing craft vanished in a fireball. The tankers cheered as the shockwave echoed over them with a _crump_. The sergeant got back on his communicator. "FDC, direct hit on the lander. Adjust fire, direction Zero-Six-One-Seven, two hundred meter spread, recommend frag shells. Fire for effect."

* * *

 _Lae'nas III. 1805 hours Federation standard time._

"All right, so we have a janitor, two art students and an 'executive assistant'." D'trel wasn't quite cursing, but it was close. "Interface, get me someone who actually knows something about the Iconians."

The holographic Preserver hummed again. It flickered, Daysnur and Jak's computer spike interfering with the holo-emitter's control computer.

Another one coming down, signed Joh'Kghan.

"Maybe this one will make all this unnecessary," grunted Jak, pulling out the spike. "We got the data, but it's heavily encrypted."

"Of course," sighed Kanril. "Because nothing we do can ever be _easy_."

D'trel almost smiled. Then her communicator beeped.

"D'trel here."

" _High Admiral, this is Min'tak'allan!_ "

"What is it, kid?"

" _A Herald attack group just gated into the system. Reading a pack of about fifty raiders and two cruisers. They're not approaching, just… holding position about a light-minute out from Lae'nas III…_ "

D'trel swore. "Alright. That reeks of a trap to me, but then again these are Iconians…but then again, obfuscating stupidity is very possible. Don't attack, just stay ready for a fight and keep scanning the area. Stay in formation."

" _Yes, sir._ "

Foolish alien that is supposed to know things is here, signed Joh'Kghan. The fifth Preserver of the day, this one appearing male, stepped out of its tube and looked around.

"Ah, my children. For many generations of your kind have I slept. Why have you awakened me?"

"The Iconians are invading this galaxy with intent to subjugate the entire population. We need any and all intel you have on them, and not the encrypted version that we've extracted. Can you get us that, or are you another glorified escort?"

"Escort?" asked the Preserver in confusion.

D'trel pinched the bridge of her nose and struggled not to grind her teeth. "Can you get us all of the intel you have on the Iconians or not? They're attacking our homeworld. I need to get back as quickly as possible."

"Of course, my child," said the Preserver. It moved over to the archive control console and began typing. "Have you done something to the Archive? It shows a leak of data."

"Yes, we downloaded the archive. Encrypted, but still useful. We would prefer, however, to have the intelligence in its non-encrypted form."

The Preserver smiled. "I believe I can manage that," he said in a fatherly tone. "I was a chronicler, and I helped to create this place." He turned to the console. "Ah, the Iconians. They are the first of our children, and for a time, the most troublesome. They were different once, brighter."

"If the Iconians were brighter, the others must not be sentient," Kanril murmured to Jak, setting him snickering.

"Sometimes I do wonder," the Nausicaan rejoined. "Especially given the Inevitable Whatsit."

"Oh, c'mon, he can't be THAT bad."

"Twenty credits says you're wrong. He didn't learn a thing from being _vaporized_ when we saw him last."

Kanril's jaw dropped. "You're on."

"I'll collect later."

"You mean I will. The Iconians have to be capable of _learning_ , even if his joke about them being the 'brightest children' is the best one I've heard since those rumors of Klingon intelligence."

Even D'trel almost smiled at that one. First Omek'ti'kallan made a rumbling noise that passed for a laugh. Daysnur and Jak snickered.

The Preserver stopped typing and turned his head to the armored Bajoran. "Insh'alhalan, that was not meant as a joke. I referred only to what they achieved in their time in the galaxy. They were the undisputed masters of the space between spaces, what you so inadequately refer to as 'subspace'. They ruled—"

"Can you back up a bit? What's 'Insh'alhalan' mean?" Jak asked curiously.

"It is what her people called themselves eons ago," the Preserver answered patiently, "before the kingdom of Bajora began its first wars of conquest, before your own kind even discovered fire, Nausicaan."

"Not bad," growled Jak, giving an appreciative glance and nod to Kanril. "'Course, we got into space faster."

"Yeah, 'cause you stole warp drive from invaders like the Klingons did," the Bajoran shot back.

"So? We're an enterprising people!" The Nausicaan mimed tugging at the pockets of a suit jacket. "And we didn't need a bleeding-heart Federation handout, neither."

The words left his mouth before he realized what he was saying and he tried to give an apologetic look, but Kanril was already glaring at him, one hand twitching above a holstered sidearm. "You wanna _go_ , little man?"

The Nausicaan shook his head, deadly serious this time. "Winds, no, I don't want to end up like that class-four back in the caves."

"Then watch your _phekk'ta_ mouth, _gek tak rukk kull_." She turned and stalked away.

"Cut the chatter and get the data," growled D'trel, checking her chronometer. "We're on a clock here. And Jak?" The Nausicaan nervously turned to her. "See me in my office when we're done here."

He started to answer but then he heard a low hum in the air, and his tricorder blared. "Heads up, we're gonna have company!" he yelled.

Vortexes tore through reality around them, one of them a blue scar in the air directly in front of Jak. A meaty fist came through the portal and crashed into his breastplate, sending him flying into the central pillar of the Preserver Archive. A titanic class-four emerged, staff glowing as it bellowed like an angry hippopotamus.

Then there was whistle of steel ending in a metallic impact, and the Herald Defiler's eyes seemed to cross, then winked out as it crumpled to its knees and crashed to the ground. A thrown combat knife—no, a rifle bayonet—was buried to the hilt in the back of its head, still vibrating.

Jak's eyes tracked it back to the gray-armored Bajoran who was already drawing a bead on a construct with her service pistol.

"Nice throw, Kanril—watch your back!" A class-three emerged from a gateway behind the Bajoran, but the Nausicaan straightened at the waist and clipped its upper body with his antiproton gun, knocking it off-balance long enough for Kanril to pivot and shoot it through the skull with her pistol.

" _Thanks, pirate._ " She twisted and cracked off several more lances of incandescent fire, advancing in a Weaver stance on a construct that had exited a gate practically on top of Daysnur.

 _I hate these fucking droids_ , confided the Lethean to Jak telepathically. _No brains to target, no minds to sense…_

 _Gonna have to deal with it as best you can_ , Jak thought back. _And move over towards the corner a little more, two suits are trying to flank you._

" _Why are they not attacking the Preserver_?" asked Omek'ti'kallan over the comlink. Jak risked a glance as he rolled behind the Defiler corpse; the Preserver was cowering by the console, but the Heralds were ignoring it completely.

"I don't know, but I don't like it!"

D'trel's sniper rifle sounded, and a Thrall fell over the Defiler's body on Jak's right with half of its head gone. The Nausicaan cursed inventively, and blasted another volley at the incoming class-ones. He could handle himself in a fight, but this was getting ridiculous!

Another gateway opened, and a trio of Defilers and several constructs began forming a sort of wall of flesh around it, using their bodies to shield it from the Alpha Quadrant soldiers. Kanril fired several shots on wide-beam, dropping four of the bots, but then her phaser pistol clicked dry. She tossed it aside and dove behind a roof support as a Defiler returned fire.

Jak rolled sideways, narrowly evading a Defiler energy blast, and landed in a pool of water behind a decent piece of rock. He peered up as far as he could without getting another energy blast to the face, and saw…

An Iconian, jet-black and with orange "veins" running through its body, stepped out of the gateway. It floated forward, telekinetically levitating itself, and observed the battlefield.

" _KEEP THEM PINNED DOWN, YOU IMBECILES. IF EVEN ONE SHOT FROM THOSE WORTHLESS INFERIORS HAPPENS TO MAR MY MAJESTIC VISAGE, ALL OF YOU HERALDS SHALL PAY WITH YOUR MISERABLE LIVES._ "

"My child," said the Preserver, standing up now as it had apparently realized that the Heralds weren't shooting at it. Jak blinked up his HUD after two tries and pinged a preset battle plan across the comlink; moments later, D'trel's approval came through and the soldiers stopped firing.

" _I AM NOT YOUR CHILD, INFERIOR BEING,_ " thrummed the Iconian. " _I AM SUPREME HIGH LORD STAR-OF-GLORIOUS-MAJESTY, FIRST COUSIN OF ETERNAL GRAND SUPREME HIGH EMPEROR DESTINED-FOR-GLORIOUS-DEEDS HIMSELF! YOU WILL SHOW PROPER REVERENCE FOR YOUR GOD._ "

" _Wait for it…_ " hissed D'trel over the comlink. " _First, can you reach it?_ " The Defilers still maintained their guard, moving slowly alongside the Iconian. Come on...all it took was one stupid dismissal of them by the Iconian…

"You do not have to do this, my child," said the Preserver, its earlier arrogant condescension gone, an almost pleading tone in its voice now.

The Iconian laughed, deep and malevolent. " _OF COURSE I MUST DO THIS. I HAVE WAITED MANY EONS TO FINALLY DESTROY YOUR KIND ONCE AGAIN! I WAS FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE GRANTED THIS GREAT HONOR BY OUR FORCE COMMANDER, SUPREME HIGH LORD INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS HIMSELF, AS EVEN HE RECOGNIZED MY PERFECTION._ " Its posture and tone shifted, less melodramatic and more laced with malice now. " _WE WILL CRUSH THIS PUNY GALAXY BENEATH US. THIS LAST HOPE FOR THE INFERIOR REBEL SERVITORS WILL BURN. BUT FIRST, I WILL HAVE THE SATISFACTION OF KILLING A PRESERVER MYSELF._ "

" _I've got no shot, sir!_ " Kanril sent.

" _None of us do, those Defilers are good_." The Rihanha's voice contained a trace of admiration. " _Good soldiers. Damn shame that Iconian wasted so many of them for its little ego trip._ "

The Iconian thrust out a hand, and the Preserver rose into the air, its limbs contorting in unnatural ways. Still no clear shot, damn it!

To its credit, the Presever didn't scream, didn't even utter a sound.

" _Come_ ** _on_** _,_ " hissed D'trel. "Move, _you big lumps…_ "

"A… pity," gasped the Preserver, "such… a… great… pity."

" _I have it,_ " rumbled the Jem'Hadar quietly over the comlink. " _It is loaded. If one of the Defilers moves, I will have a clear shot._ "

The Iconian thrummed again with an evil chuckle. The Preserver faced its death with a smile as the Iconian raised its body higher.

"A… great… pity, that our… first children… were so flawed."

The Iconian howled in rage and clenched its fist, and the Preserver liquefied.

" _INSOLENT LESSER BEING!_ " shrieked the Iconian, blasting the Archive console and obelisk repeatedly. " _I WILL SHOW YOU_ ** _FLAWED_** _!_ " It lashed out again, and its arm hit one of the Defilers by sheer proximity.

" _YOU IMBECILE_!" the Iconian howled. " _HOW DARE YOU STRIKE YOUR GOD!_ " It thrust, and the three Defilers burst in an instant.

"NOW!" shouted D'trel.

The remaining Heralds, a trio of Thralls and four Constructs, opened fire, but too late. D'trel fell with a grunt of pain as a Herald energy blast bled through her shields and burned her arm, but her bullet flew true. As did the shots from the others' weapons.

Supreme High Lord Star-of-Glorious-Majesty's upper torso was blown apart by a confluence of frag rounds and energy weapons turned up to the maximum setting. He screamed once, and then learned first-hand that First Omek'ti'kallan had brought a grenade launcher, unwieldy as the device could be in normal combat.

The Iconian's legs collapsed to the ground as the rest of his body shattered.

"Man down!" barked Omek'ti'kallan as Eleya, Daysnur, Joh'Kghan, and Jak immediately shifted to targetting the Heralds.

Jak took a class-one in the "head", and rolled sideways to avoid the counterattack from two others. A class-three dropped as Eleya fired again, and a bullet and a disruptor beam holed another class-one. Daysnur swore over the comlink as the remaining Thralls targeted his hiding-place, running behind a pillar with Construct weapons clipping his shields.

Another shot from Eleya, another Construct down. Jak blasted the two Thralls with his full-auto setting, and they dropped, one from the antiproton fire and one from a bullet from Joh'Kghan.

"Second-degree burn," growled the Jem'Hadar over the comlink. "You need to be more careful, sir."

"I can still fight, let me the _Ariennye_ up!"

Two Constructs left. Daysnur and Jak blasted one together and it fell. Eleya pulled her rifle's trigger, and cursed.

"Overheat! _Phekk'ta_ safety!"

"I have it," growled the _turak_ , powering up from the "moat" behind the last class-one and stabbing it clean-through with her spear.

" _Sher hahr kosst!_ Iconian _phekk'sa maktal kosst amojan_ destroyed the _phekk'ta_ interface!" swore Kanril.

Jak scrambled back up, stepping in Iconian bits as he went for the archive. " _Chak on ja!_ Worse than that, that Winds-cursed scum fried the memory core!"

"Can you retrieve any information?" asked First Omek'ti'kallan, D'trel cursing in pain as he took a medkit from Daysnur and started running a dermal regenerator up her arm.

"If he'd just destroyed the interface I would've had a chance, but that _ruk dra shattuk chak an_ Iconian scum fried the memory core; the data's gone!"

"We have the encrypted data, though," hissed D'trel around another curse of pain and Kanril's swearing. "That's better than nothing."

"And whatever's in there is important," noted Daysnur. "That Iconian said it was our 'last hope' or something."

"You actually listened to that guy?" asked Jak.

"Hey, he wasn't as bad as the Inevitable Fate guy."

" _Nobody_ 's as bad as the Inevitable Fate guy."

D'trel winced as she flexed her freshly-patched arm. "Cut the fucking chatter and beam back up. At least we have the fucking data, even if it's encrypted. We're heading back to ch'Mol'Rihan, now."

" _High Admiral!_ " shouted Min'tak'allan through D'trel's combadge.

" _Ariennye_ , what now? Report!"

" _We're picking up a massive gateway signat—_ ** _spirits preserve us!_** "

D'trel didn't bother to ask what the young Ferasan saw.

"Beam up, everyone, now!"

* * *

Supreme High Lord Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness thrummed deeply, coughed a couple of times, and flexed his arms, stretching to make sure his torso was loose. He was ready.

"Inferior being, bring us through the gateway." An impulse struck him, a piece from the book that that servitor had given him—and he did need to remember to reward the insignificant creature, it really _was_ an interesting book. "We will begin my glorious attack with a little of what is called 'shock and awe'. Fire the main gun on the Archive the moment we emerge!"

"Ingenious, O glorious one," groveled the Herald helmsman. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness thrummed in self-satisfaction as he gave his mustachio a quick once-over. He'd already memorized his speech, of course.

The Herald said something fawning about his magnificent intellect, but Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness barely heard it. He was in the _zone_ now. It would be impossible to deny the eloquent perfection of THIS speech!

The main gun thrummed, and the Iconian took one last deep breath.

"Hail them."

* * *

By the time I get to the Bridge, D'trel's already got the fleet in formation, and the first of two battleships are coming through the gateway. Delta Flight is arrayed to my left, Commodore Paris in the point position of a delta formation, with the rest of our task force circling the _Bajor_ in a Romulan hammerhead formation. It's about the best we can do in this situation; Paris to target and destroy enemy heavies in synchronized attacks, me to hammer heavies face-to-face, the cruisers to provide support, and the escorts in our group to keep the trash off of my tail.

But there's two battleships, a _lot_ of cruisers and raiders, and a titanic dreadnought the size of a starbase visible through the gate.

"Oh, _phekk_ me, that thing's big. Wiggin, if you see a weakness on that dreadnought, tell me immediately!"

The Herald dreadnought emerges from the titanic gateway, swarms of cruisers and raiders swirling around it. The main gun begins to glow…

"Kanril, get the _Ariennye_ out of there!"

"Evasive action!" I bark, and Park spins us hard to starboard. Behind us…

The gun fires, and our shields catch the barest edge of the mile-wide blast of heat and light as it lances the planet. A mushroom cloud erupts from the surface, the shockwave spreading for hundreds of kilometers. The _Bajor_ shudders, and the red-alert siren blares.

"Rear shields down to 87% and regenerating! What the hell was that thing?"

"Wave motion gun!" I snarl. "Esplin, do whatever you can to keep coms up, our biggest advantage here is coordination and tactics!"

"Captain," says Esplin nervously. "We're being hailed by the Iconians."

"Put them on screen," says D'trel over the fleet link.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAA!" laughs a jet-black Iconian with an ugly mustachio-like chitinous growth on its face. "YOU SEE BEFORE YOU THE INVINCIBLE GLORY AND VENGEFUL MIGHT OF THE UNBELIEVABLY GLORIOUS SUPREME HIGH LORD INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS, MASTER OF GLORIOUS FATE, SUZERAIN OF A THOUSAND WORLDS, MAJESTIC DEITY OF IMPOSSIBLY GOOD LOOKS, SON AND HEIR OF THE GLORIOUS AND INFINITE IMPERATOR, ETERNAL GRAND SUPREME HIGH EMPEROR DESTINED-FOR-GLORIOUS-DEEDS! YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY COMPREHEND—" At which point Esplin gives up and mutes him.

"Oh, come _on_ ," I grumble. "I think he missed his calling—should've been a _phekk'ta_ springball announcer." Tess snickers. Garra mutters something about shaving his upper lip.

Damn, now I owe that Nausicaan twenty credits.

My console beeps as Inevitable Yadda Yadda continues pontificating, becoming more animated and probably louder as he goes along. It's actually quite impressive, in a sadly pathetic sort of way; he seems to be actually enjoying himself. D'trel has used the Iconian's introductory speech to send out a quick battle plan and formation instructions. There's a note attached. I open it on my PADD.

 _I killed this fucker twice already. Let's teach this_ hlai _-fucking son of a mogai and a cyanobacterium how to die._

I smile. This is going to be almost _fun_.

* * *

Raenasa _, Hachae s'Temer, ch'mol'Rihan._

 _Ekhifv Temjahaere_ D'Tan had to be hauled out of his office by Obisek and two hulking Havran shadow guards as air raid sirens howled outside and deorbited debris and orbital fire pounded into the city's deflector shield, while outside the high granite walls the forest burned.

"With respect, _lhhei_ ," growled the towering Havranha, "our people need a _live_ leader, not a martyr. _Erei'Riov_ , get him to the _Zdenia_ , now. Knock him out and drag him if you have to. I will follow in—"

"D'Tan! _Ekhifv Temjahaere_ D'Tan!"

Obisek turned with a muttered curse… but it wasn't the terrified sublieutenant that he had expected. Instead, a white-haired old Rihan man in Imperial-styled robes was shouldering his way through the crowd, carrying a PDA.

"Ambassador tr'Ethian," growled Obisek. "Why are you still here? You should be evacuating."

The Rihan man's face was alight with an almost-manic grin. "Evacuate? In our moment of triumph?"

"What are you saying, _ehl'alha_?" one of the shadow guards asked, practically spitting the last word as he dragged the Proconsul behind him. Obisek flashed a glare at the man.

However, the ambassador's spirits were so high that he completely ignored the slur as he ran after the retreating Proconsul. "The _fvillhu_ has sent the _Galae_!"

D'Tan stopped in his tracks, shook the shadow guards loose, and wheeled in place. "How many ships, _Llairhi_ tr'Ethian?"

"No, you, don't understand, _lhhei_ , he sent the _Galae_ , the _entire Galae!_ "


	5. Fight for the Future

**Chapter 4: Fight for the Future**

 _She stands feet apart at the prow of her ship  
Two loaded pistols cocked on her hips  
Her quarry's gone to ground  
In a thick bank of clouds  
Foolish for thinking he gave her the slip_

 _She feels nothing but the cold wind_  
 _Her memories of warmth have long grown thin_  
 _Once long ago_  
 _The only love she'd known_  
 _Left her for dead, scarred and broken_

 _Captain Morena's heart is black as night_  
 _Her quest for vengeance goes long into the twilight_  
 _For ten years she's hunted a vile, evil man_  
 _Who cast her into the ocean with his own bare hands_

 _She orders her men to load the cannons_  
 _Grape shot and iron balls certain to do damage_  
 _Now that she's caught a glimpse_  
 _Of that red painted ship_  
 _The look upon her face is no less than savage_

 _All ahead full she shouts at her men_  
 _This crew who saved her from an untimely end_  
 _Her object of ire_  
 _Stands at a quarter mile_  
 _This once innocent girl is coming for him_

 _Captain Morena's heart is black as night_  
 _Her quest for vengeance goes long into the twilight_  
 _This once peasant girl has become a pirate queen_  
 _Only with blood will she be appeased_

 _She pulls so close the gas cells collide_  
 _He stands across from her rigid with pride_  
 _In his handsome face_  
 _She sees not a trace_  
 _Of remorse for the emptiness he left her inside_

 _Captain Morena tells her men to fire_  
 _The red ship goes up in a black funeral pyre._  
 _Sailors and timber_  
 _All burn to a cinder_  
 _And still he smiles in his regal attire_

 _She leaps over the side, hungry blade in hand_  
 _Their swords meet with a terrible clang_  
 _As she gives a shout_  
 _And her rage flows out_  
 _The powder magazine goes out with a bang_

 _Captain Morena's heart was black as night_  
 _Her quest for vengeance went long into the twilight_  
 _We last saw her, falling to her death_  
 _A smile on her face, her sword buried in his chest  
_ — "Captain Morena", Escape the Clouds

 _High orbit over ch'Mol'Rihan._

"T'Khnialmnae, now!"

Ch'M'R _Aen'rhien_ 's forward plasma banks fired at full power, striking another Herald cruiser amidships with its shields down.

"Hard to port!" barked Morgaiah t'Thavrau, coughing slightly as a bit of smoke drifted by her face. The Herald ship cracked, glowed from within, and detonated, the Rihan warbird swooping just out of the blast radius.

"Khre'Riov _, we can't hold them!_ " screamed one of the escort commanders over the comlink. " _There are too many—_ " His shriek cut off mid-sentence. Another dot on the tactical plot went dark.

Nine hundred more men and women who would not see the dawn.

"Cruiser to starboard, on a collision course!" Jaleh Khoroushi snapped.

"Hard to starboard!" Morgan ordered. "Take it on the navigational deflector!"

"Nav deflector's been dead for over an hour, _rekkhai_!" the Terrhaha reminded her. "We couldn't stop a stray _bolt_!"

"Aen'rhien _, this is BGV_ Destiny Ascension _,_ " the Benthan flagship transmitted. " _We'll take it from here._ "

"Captain Katris, you're as torn up as we are!" Sarsachen tr'Sauringar said in disbelief.

" _No, we're worse._ " A blue-gray bar-bell of a ship, trailing atmosphere, debris, and escape pods, listed across the course of the oncoming Herald ship. Metal crumpled. Ceramisteel tore. Viewports shattered. Magazines detonated. Then the viewscreen washed out in a single actinic pulse of radiation as both warp cores blew.

 _Khre'Enriov_ tr'Kererek's voice came over the heavily encrypted command channel. "Khre'Riov _t'Thavrau, you are ordered to disengage your element from the fleet and pull back to the dockyard. You will then escort ch'M'R_ Zdenia _and the_ ekhifv temjahaere _to Rendezvous Point Five-Four. All other ships, prepare to retreat._ "

"Acknowledged," Morgan said, quietly, hand-signaling the helmsman as she slumped in her command chair, the weariness of seven hours of fighting hitting her all at once. She didn't need to ask what this meant. The last time she had heard such an order, she had been on the ch'R _Albintian_ , returning to ch'Rihan to pull out the _Deihuit_ before the Loss. Before… Hobus.

Images ran through her mind. The future of peace, her vineyard, all their hopes for the _Kreh'dhhokh Mol'Rihan_ —

" _Wait, belay my last!_ " tr'Kererek shouted over the comm. " _All surviving vessels, form up! New orders inbound on Tac Two!_ "

Morgan grabbed her PDA. "Fire and Wind," she breathed, then clicked her comm switch. "Two-Six Squadron, form up on my wing. Overlap your shields and commence run on Target Alpha-Six."

" _Rekkhai_ , maybe I'm missing something, but that dreadnought's guns are still live!" tr'Sauringar objected. "We go after that battleship and—"

Morgan threw the PDA at him and he caught it. "The dreadnought will not be a threat for very much longer, _Riov_. Target the battleship."

Tr'Sauringar's eyes widened, and he gave her a giddy grin. " _Au'e, rekkhai._ Helm! You heard the lady! Punch it!"

* * *

Supreme High Lord Venerated-Beyond-Measure laughed gleefully as the little green ships danced and burned. Mostly burned. The servitors known as the "Romulans" had put up a ferocious fight: even two of his mighty Iaidon dreadnoughts had fallen to suicidal ramming attacks. These Romulans' bizarre power supply, a confined black hole, could be quite destructive. And the allies they had brought from the far side of the galaxy had stymied all but a token landing, though all had eventually perished.

But the forces of the Iconian Empire were legion, quite literally enough to blot out the sun, and the Romulans had been weakened from within by one of their own at the behest of the Infinite Supreme Imperator of all Iconians, Eternal Grand Supreme High Emperor Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds. Fewer and fewer of the green ships remained in their path, and after that, the planet lay defenseless. "Servitor, leave some of the puny creatures alive. I want to know how it is that they could resist the forces led by Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness for so long."

"Understood, Your Exaltedness," the Herald shipmaster said. "If I may ask—"

"I will clarify, puny lesser being. I said 'alive', not 'undamaged'.

"Of course, Your Exaltedness." The Herald turned its six eyes on the hologram of the battlefield. "Your Exaltedness, I detect a curious… fluctuation in subspace."

"It is nothing! The aftereffects of our entrance, nothing more!"

"Of course, Your Exaltedness. I merely thought—"

"Your job is not to _think_ , servitor! You will concentrate on—"

"Supreme High Lord Venerated-Beyond-Measure!" another Herald cried suddenly. Astonished at its impudence, the Iconian raised his hand to blast the Herald from existence, but it pointed frantically at a new group of dots on the plot. "Enemy contacts, my Lord! New enemies approach our position!"

Venerated-Beyond-Measure glanced at the plot, then turned and vaporized the Herald anyway. "That was for interrupting—"

"Your Exaltedness," the shipmaster interrupted, "I detect a rather curious energy from the new arrivals."

Then everything turned curiously _green_.

* * *

On the bridge of the ch'R _Eyhon Eludet'eri_ , _Enriov_ Satali t'Tyrava looked on with satisfaction as the Herald flagship suddenly ceased all maneuvering. "Well, well. Thalaron radiation works on Ikkonsu; who would have thought? _Erein_ t'Sathe, deploy fighters. All units, commence attack pattern Ael Twelve; follow me in."

" _Rekkhai_ , we are being hailed by ch'M'R _Aen'rhien_."

"Onscreen." A weatherbeaten face appeared on the main viewer. " _Khre'Riov_ t'Thavrau, _Fvillhu_ Velal sends his regards."

"Enriov _,_ " t'Thavrau said in a weary tone, " _your timing is impeccable and your presence much appreciated._ "

"Wouldn't miss it for all the latinum in the galaxy," t'Tyrava answered, smiling nastily. "Today we avenge the Loss, and the Sacrifice. Today, we avenge ch'Rihan."

* * *

 _Lae'nas system. 2300 hours Federation Standard time, June 8th, 2410._

Cruisers and escorts hurtle past in an enormous furball as Tess duels a Herald battleship twice our size. The red-alert sirens blare as our phasers thrum, but we're wearing down the Herald's shields faster than it's wearing down ours.

The ship shudders as a salvo from another Herald behemoth slams into it. "Starboard shield at twenty percent!" Gaarra warns me. "I'm remodulating and diverting power from engines!"

"Park, roll ship!" I snap. "Flag, I need cover!"

"T'Kumbra _,_ Agamemnon _,_ Shavokh _, divert to screen_ Bajor' _s starboard flank._ " Three of Paris's sleek new escorts dart out and lance phaser pulse after phaser pulse into the other battleship, splitting around its shields and looping behind for another strafing run before it can return fire.

As before, the Heralds have little or no tactical coordination. Some seem to have a modicum of discipline and try to stick to simple formations, cruisers fighting in pairs or raiders forming a swarm around a larger ship, but most just attack at random, the raiders jumping around through short-lived gateways and the cruisers slowly moving for our heavies, trying to bring the power of their fore weapons to bear.

Paris is in his element, evading the cruisers and cutting them to shreds from the rear as the trio of battlecruisers in our motley crew spit rapid-fire bolts of energy into the clouds of oncoming raiders, fighters, and drones. A _Nebula_ -class and _Steamrunner_ -class pull up alongside us with one of the Republic's new _Aelahl_ -class light battlecruisers close behind. Green and orange beams and bolts blaze from their emitters, and the Romulan cruiser throws a gravity well downrange that vacuums up a whole pack of raiders and several torpedoes, smashing them into a tangled mass of twisted, flaming metal.

Tess whoops with joy. "Enemy shield has collapsed! Forward tube locked and firing!" A rapid-fire series of quantum torpedoes shriek out of the tubes, slamming into the battleship's bow below the glowing blue "eye". The dreadnought is still trying to turn, its design built for slow, intimidating advance rather than rapid maneuvers. The other battleship is floundering as more and more of Paris's escorts and the survivors of Starbase 234 that we brought with us add their fire, the incoming assault now so intense that the target's hull is beginning to blacken and buckle even through the shields.

The first battleship explodes in a gout of fire and twisted metal, taking two cruisers and a swarm of smaller ships with it, and several voices over the com link cheer. But our joy is as short-lived as our victory.

D'trel swears on the com link, and _Vengeance_ pulls hard to starboard just as the main gun on the Iconian dreadnought fires, blazing through space where the little escort had been seconds before. No other ships were in the way; I realize what it means just as the Herald cruisers and raiders form an actual, albeit extremely simple, formation, aiming everything they have for the flagship.

The Iconians have figured out who's leading us.

* * *

" **FINISH THEM!** " thrummed Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness. His mind was clear, now. It was so _obvious_ , now. His magnificence would endure, he could gloat all he pleased for eternity—but not unless he _finished_ these servitors, _here, now_.

" **USE THE MAIN GUN! FLANK THAT SMALL SERVITOR SHIP, YOU FOOLS!** "

The Herald Harbinger at the helm station began to respond with an elaborate description of Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness's magnificence, but he cut it off. "Just shoot them, you fool!"

The main cannon fired, and Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness swore.

"FLANK THEM, YOU FOOLS! IGNORE THE OTHERS! IGNORE THE OTHERS! KILL THAT SMALL SHIP! **KILL THEM**!"

The battleships wheeled in space at the Iconian's command. The little warbird's pilot saw the shift; so did the servitor admiral. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness swore again, defaming the dignity of the distant ancestors of the enemy pilot. As the second of his battleships detonated, he added a series of curses aimed at the sexual potency of the commander of those infernal light escorts that had cut it down swooping swiftly and easily around his mighty vessels. Those puny beings should know their place!

"RAM THEM."

Swarms of raiders converged. The Federation battleship, the _annoying_ one that would not die, swatted raiders and a cruiser out of space, even stopping a raider cold by taking the impact on its saucer, but too many got through. The Iconian smiled, secure in his victory.

"Finish them."

The main gun fired again. Closer, this time. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness smiled again. His mustachio vibrated with glee.

"Good. GOOD! Hit them with everything!"

A raider slipped within a dozen meters of the little warbird, and the shields connected, the impact sending the warbird reeling.

"NOW!"

The main gun fired. The warbird's pilot reacted, but too slow. Not even Breen reflexes could get the ship far enough from the beam in time.

One of the warbird's wings was annihilated instantly, the beam of heat and light carving deep into the body of the ship. The little warbird flipped away through space, engines dead, hull sparkling. A tractor beam shot out from the Federation battleship, but Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness knew that his magnificent victory was secure.

"YES! YES! NOW FINISH THE REST! AHAHAHAHAAA! ONCE AGAIN MY SUPREME GLORY BRINGS ME TO INEVITABLE VICTORY OVER THE LOWLY SERVITORS! THEY CANNOT POSSIBLY WITHSTAND THE INEVITABLE ASCENDANCY OF MY GLORIOUS FATE, FOR I AM—"

Then the Federation battleship returned fire.

* * *

D'trel clawed her way back to consciousness and hauled herself upright from the floor of the bridge. Hull breach alarms were howling, the main viewscreen had shattered into a million pieces, and a cloud of smoke and fire-suppressant hazed the room.

"Min'tak'allan, what's our status? Where are they?" No response. D'trel looked over at the sensor station. "Answer me— _Areinnye!_ "

Min'tak'allan slumped unmoving, pinned to his console through the back of his chair by a jagged spear of hull plating a meter long.

D'trel swallowed, hot tears welling up in her eyes, and reached for her communicator. "Daysnur! Talk to me! What's our status?"

" _Our status is we've_ had _it, Admiral! Hull breaches on all decks, I had to eject the singularity core, the EPS grid is fried, weapons ports are just_ gone— _Jak, get a stabilizer on that conduit! Sir, we're floating scrap, our only chance is for the Iconians to ignore us long enough for us to evacuate. Life support's about to fail and I don't think I can get it back up again without a power transfer and a set of power cells._ "

D'trel cursed, loud and profane but short.

"First, that's it. We're evacuating. See to it."

"Yes, sir," said the Jem'Hadar, tearing a piece of debris from where it had hit the helm controls. "All hands, this is First Omek'ti'kallan. Make for your designated evacuation points and prepare to abandon ship." He grabbed the semiconscious Zel by a shoulder and pulled xir to xir feet. "Third, with me. Admiral, I have sent a distress beacon but I have no way of knowing if anyone is still alive to respond."

D'trel grabbed the hilt of her sword, out of the need for security if nothing else. Her head was throbbing, a voice that was half hers and half Adani's screaming with rage and hate in her brain.

"Right. I'll meet you in five minutes. Going to check the kid. Then see if whoever was on Ops made it."

The Jem'Hadar saluted and left for the access shaft by the turbolift, half-carrying the Breen with him.

She hauled herself over the wreckage that half-bisected the bridge, swearing. The young Ferasan's eyes were mercifully closed. D'trel figured that he'd died instantly, from shock if nothing else. Good. Poor kid didn't deserve a slow death.

"They're going to pay," she promised, clasping the bekk on his shoulder for the last time. "If it takes me a thousand years, they will pay." She squeezed, lightly. "Min'tak'allan. You were a good kid. I'll tell your parents. And then I'll find a way to kill that Supreme High Scumbag and make it _permanent_ this time."

"Help," a small voice groaned from under the wreckage. D'trel's head whipped around. A leg protruded from beneath a section of the ceiling. The Rihanha swore.

"I'm here! I'll get you out!"

The voice was quieting. Live crew. They needed her.

Hate died in her breast. For once in her life, certainty came from somewhere other than rage. People needed her. She was there. She would help them.

She hauled a piece of broken metal off a bloodied Havranha. _Erein_ 's badge. That new boy, fresh out of _Phi'lasasam_. Torvek, she thought his name was. He'd barely been on the ship for a week. "If it hurts, tell me! Is anything damaged?"

"My leg. I can't feel my leg."

" _Ariennye_. Looks like you're walking with me when I get you out of here…" She hauled off another piece of twisted metal. "Damn Iconians got smart. Not very smart, but smart enough."

The kid moaned.

"Your first tour?"

"Yes, sir. Oh, Elements, my arm… I can't feel my right leg, and my arm…"

"I know. Transporters are down," D'trel grunted as she heaved another mass of metal away, "so I'll carry you to Sickbay and get you patched up quickly before we evac. Alright, this is going to hurt."

"Oh, Air. Ready, sir."

"On five. One. Two." She pulled the spear of metal that had pinned the Havranha's upper arm to the wall, and he shrieked in pain. "Good. You're fine." D'trel tore off her outer coat, holding one hand to the kid's arm as she ripped off a sleeve with her teeth, then tied the makeshift bandage as tightly as she dared. "Keep that there."

"Yes, sir," managed the kid between gasps of pain.

"Good. You're going to be fine. Looks like nerve damage in the upper thigh, there. Lean on me." The Rihanha hauled the kid up by his good arm; he had the sense to obey orders. "Good. I'll support you. Doctor, I've got a Reman male, mid-twenties, here, bringing him down, needs treatment for a crushed leg, nerve damage there, and a puncture wound all through his upper left arm."

" ** _Another_** _one? I_ hate _shrapnel. Get him down here, sir._ "

"Roger that. This way, kid, I'll help you down the access shaft."

* * *

I cough hard against the smoke filling the bridge as Tess hammers the shields of the enemy dreadnought with the forward phasers. The astrogator is dead and his console is on fire, and more smoke is coming from the aft corridor and overstressed circuits on the bridge. "Gaarra, can you—"

"Adjusting the ventilation controls, Captain."

"Thank you!" The bridge jolts as I hit the comm key on the arm of my chair. "All units, this is Captain Kanril. _Vengeance_ is out of action; I'm taking command of the fleet. Form up on me and concentrate all fire on that dreadnought, it's our only chance." I point to a petty officer. "You! Tractor the _Vengeance_ , knock it clear of the furball!"

The ship groans as a powerful beam glances off the starboard shields. "Shields down to 32 percent!" Tess announces. "And if that had been a direct hit we'd be eating vac, FYI!"

"Captain," Wiggin says over the din of alarms, "I've been analyzing the readings off that ship. They're using a multiple-sector shield design like us—they have to, they're too big for a single bubble—but the individual sectors are much smaller. Recommend we focus all our fire on one point—"

"Like a Borg cube?"

"Yes, ma'am. I recommend _here_."

I look at the readings. "That doesn't seem like a reactor or a weapons emplacement."

"No, ma'am. But it has life-form readings. I think it's the bridge."

"The Inevitable Whatever," I realize.

Tess's face twists into a gleeful snarl. "It'll be a pleasure, ma'am."

"Esplin, transmit the coordinates to the fleet. Reload forward torpedo tubes—give me the high-yield stuff."

"Loading neutronic torpedoes," Tess confirms.

"Target the bridge, maximum firepower. Let's see what it takes to bring one of those down."

The fleet moves in, and lances and bolts of orange and green streak across the void, battering into the dreadnought just above the main gun. It fires, and the _John Paul Jones_ vanishes from the plot. We redouble our efforts as the fighters move in, heedless of their own fragility, unloading torpedo after torpedo against the behemoth at point-blank range and dying by the dozen. It's not working; we need more power. "Tess, dump everything to the phasers, life-support if you have to!"

"Waiting for you to say that, ma'am!" A red-orange thunderbolt erupts from the dorsal phaser strip and smashes into the shields like the fist of an angry god. An alarm goes off—the array's focusing mechanisms have torn themselves apart under the strain—but the shields are finally down. "Torpedoes locked!"

"Send him to the Fire Caves!"

A veritable kaleidoscope of glowing projectiles shrieks out of a dozen torpedo tubes and collides with the dreadnought in a titanic firestorm of energy. Cracks rocket across its hull from the point of impact at supersonic speed. A secondary explosion belches out of the tube for the main gun.

"Captain, I'm reading a subspace rupture off its bow!"

"Take evasive action!"

A huge gateway swirls into existence amid the fleet and the dreadnought's engines ignite. We move in to attack, but its flank weapons and shields are still operational, so we can do little more than watch as the Herald dreadnought, battered but still flying, escapes to points unknown.

* * *

D'trel swore and pounded the access panel for the escape pods. Nothing happened. "Are any of the others working?"

"The ventral set is partially functional," Omek rumbled, "but we cannot evacuate the entire crew with them. Even if we leave our dead, we can only get seven men off of the ship."

"Right. Find whoever's youngest, get the new kids out. Then we head down to the armory, you and me, and we jury-rig some EV suits, turn the ship into a floating bomb, take that Inevitable Fate moron with us."

"We will be victorious," rumbled the Jem'Hadar. "It has been my honor, sir."

"Likewise." D'trel pulled the big man in for a one-armed hug. "I'll miss you, my friend."

"Likewise," rumbled First Omek'ti'kallan, his large, calf-brown eyes glistening with tears.

Then D'trel heard an electrical whine behind her and spun, drawing her sword in a flash. The point met the neck of a ginger-haired Bah'jorha in a gray combat hardsuit. " _Phekk!_ Easy! Admiral, it's me!"

D'trel lowered her sword, slowly. "Kanril. You're not stupid enough to try a rescue of an adrift ship in the middle of a battle, not personally at least. So. We won. Good." The Rihanha's voice was harsh, clipped.

The Bah'jorha shook her head. "No. We hold the field, but this isn't a victory. I, uh, brought my medics."

"How many dead?" D'trel asked as white-uniformed Starfleet Medical personnel pushed past them.

"Here or overall?"

D'trel almost laughed. It turned into a sob halfway through, but she cut it off. "Captain, I've lost over twenty people, on a fifty-man crew, including my sensor—Min'tak'allan. Science Bekk Min'tak'allan. He died with his name. Give me the casualties from this battle first, then overall."

"We lost the _Ortisei_ , _Kerrigan_ , _John Paul Jones_ , _Trem_ , _Cuirass_ , _Rea's Helm_ , _MajQa'Be'_ , _Chang_ , two dozen birds-of-prey, over a hundred fighters, _Tarsem Gau_ 's got no nacelles anymore but at least the crew lived, and I've got a chunk missing out of my saucer. Overall? In the millions, and there's still active fighting going on at Tellar, Andoria, and Qo'noS, last I heard."

" _Ariennye_. Home fleet? Ch'Mol'Rihan?"

"Praetor Velal sent help. He brought the _Lost Road_ and two other _Scimitar_ s, everything he had."

D'trel almost smiled. Almost.

"Good. Casualties there?"

"Relatively light, apparently. Nine cruisers and about twenty-five smaller ships, plus a bunch from the Delta Alliance."

D'trel winced. "Light by your standards maybe. Not to us, not with our fleet numbers." She sheathed her sword. "Hope you don't mind my men sleeping on your ship for a few nights?"

"Not at all, sir. It's a _Galaxy_ -class; we've got guest rooms to spare."

"Good." The Rihanha half-sighed, running a hand through her short hair.

" _Captain, this is Doctor Wirrpanda,_ " a voice said through Kanril's combadge.

"Go, Warragul."

" _I want to start beaming the criticals to sickbay._ "

Kanril glanced at D'trel, who nodded. "Go ahead."

"Did you take out the dreadnought?"

"Hit the bridge, couldn't finish it. Those things can take a beating," she added in what sounded like almost an admiring tone.

"So you killed the Inevitable Fate one again. I _hate_ that one." Then, after a pause. "I've killed him twice, now. And now one for you, first time you've run in to him. Keep it up at that rate, and you'll kill him more times than me someday."

"Pfah!" Kanril gave a derisive laugh. "Nah, maybe he'll stay dead this time."

* * *

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness woke up.

 _Ow._

Well, that hadn't gone very well. It seemed the rebellious servitors did not react well to a decapitation strike. They had continued to act despite his disablement of the little warbird.

He contacted a Herald and took the report, analyzing it in closer detail. The servitors' command had apparently devolved to that battleship, that enormous plate-on-a-gooseneck vessel the Heralds seemingly could not kill no matter what they threw.

So the servitors could continue to act despite the loss of their leader. That did not bode well.

Or… perhaps it was a signal. These servitors were lesser than him, and yet they had slain him, Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, the son and heir of Eternal Grand Supreme High Emperor Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds, He-Who-Rules-All-Worlds, Infinite Supreme Imperator of all Iconians, et cetera ad infinitum, three times now. Perhaps, instead of crushing all thought independent of an Iconian master, the Heralds required more autonomy, at least in the short term.

"Servitor!"

"Yea, O Inevitably Glorious Supreme High Lord—"

"Yes, yes, I know, I am powerful and wonderful and all that. Find the engineer who took command of the _Unyielding Hierophant_ after my… accident, and bring him to me."

"You wish to execute him, your majesticness?" the Solanae asked, rubbing its talons together in anticipation.

"No, you fool. I wish to _promote_ him."


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _O believe, my heart, O believe:  
Nothing to you is lost!  
Yours is, yes yours, is what you desired  
Yours, what you have loved  
What you have fought for!  
O believe,  
You were not born for nothing!  
Have not for nothing, lived, suffered!  
What was created  
Must perish,  
What perished, rise again!  
Cease from trembling!  
Prepare yourself to live!  
O Pain, You piercer of all things,  
From you, I have been wrested!  
O Death, You masterer of all things,  
Now, are you conquered!  
With wings which I have won for myself,  
In love's fierce striving,  
I shall soar upwards  
To the light which no eye has penetrated!_  
— From "Symphony #2: Resurrection" by Gustav Mahler

 _Palais de la Concorde, Paris, France._

Fleet Admiral William Riker sat with President Aennik Okeg as the battle reports flowed in from across the Beta Quadrant.

At Andoria, the Imperial Guard fought like madmen, their tiny escorts repeatedly warping straight into the teeth of the onrushing Heralds, outflanking the lumbering dreadnoughts and laying waste to them in passing, then warping back out as the Iconian ships struck the mines they'd left behind. Damaged and disabled vessels died in droves in the gravity of the ice giant planet Andor, while those that won through to the moon's surface were met with yet more mines and ancient chem-fueled ballistic missiles tipped with very modern antimatter warheads, weapons so primitive the Heralds apparently didn't recognize them as such. And the Andorians' universal conscription stood them well: even when Heralds gated into the underground cities they were met with a withering hail of gunfire from all quarters, and every third window held a sniper.

The Andorians had even turned the very elements against the invaders, using the weather control systems to call up a worldwide blizzard that still raged. The native life was inured to it. The Heralds weren't.

The same could not be said of Tellar. True to their nature, the Tellarites _held the line_ , stopping the Heralds cold in space with sheer stubborn tenacity. Not one single thrall or construct made landfall. Not one. But the cost was terrible: the Tellar Space Administration had effectively ceased to exist.

On Bajor, well… Will Riker smiled at the thought of the Militia's battle cry, "Never again!" The Heralds had completely bypassed the meager forces Starfleet could marshal at Deep Space 9, approaching from the far side of the star B'hava'el, but to no avail: The Bajorans had learned well from the Cardassians. Surface Arm held the warships at bay with surface-to-orbit artillery and met the landers in the air with a cloud of spaceworthy Longbow fighters. Those that reached the surface were targeted by spotters for bombardment from howitzers concealed in caves and camouflaged bunkers, and in at least one case a seagoing warship sitting off the coast. And even a Herald Harbinger in his full glory was no match for a main battle tank. In the cities gray-uniformed Bajoran soldiers fought house-to-house with pillboxes and IEDs, rockets and bayonets, seemingly wanting to remind the entire galaxy why the Cardassians had _left_.

And then the wormhole had opened, and for the third time in two years, Dominion warships poured through. Together with Starfleet the Jem'Hadar under Odo fell on the backs of the Herald invaders with a fury unseen since the War, regaining their lives for those they had once named "foe". Iconian losses were total.

"The strike force under D'trel just reported in," said Fleet Admiral tr'Kererek. The Romulan had bags under his eyes and creases on his cheeks from exhaustion and stress, but his uniform was still crisp and in order. "They lost thirty-three ships and over a hundred fighters, but managed to secure part of the Preserver archive. The Tal'Diann will doubtless be asking pointed questions about why doing so was even necessary in the coming days—"

"Rest assured, I'll be ordering an investigation into why the Archive wasn't used as an intelligence source earlier," the Saurian behind the desk assured him. "We can't afford that kind of incompetence."

Tr'Kererek nodded. "Well, for now I suppose that we can be satisfied that we survived."

"D'trel was facing a smaller force, wasn't she?" asked Riker. "What happened?"

"Tactical logs show the Iconians at the Lae'nas archive using actual tactics, albeit basic ones. Actual coordination, quick responses to our strikes, they even figured out which ship was commanding the fleet and tried for a decap shot. And we tried to stop them with Rear Admiral Taitt's little trick at Lae'nas III, but it didn't work."

"Well, it _was_ the sort of thing that would only work once," Riker noted, grabbing a cup of coffee from the table before the couch and gulping it down. Taitt had been a good woman. Her "trick" had saved Earth in one strike, albeit at the cost of her own life. "But actual tactics?"

"It was that Iconian from Qo'noS, from January. Inevitable something-or-other. He must've learned from being killed twice."

" _Twice_?" Riker almost spat coffee all over his pants.

Tr'Kererek snickered. "D'trel killed him in January, then again two weeks ago."

"Somebody's gotta teach that guy how to die," Riker quipped. The President snorted.

"Velal sends his regards, by the way," said tr'Kererek. "Last I heard the Imperial senate was debating whether or not to censure him for helping the Republic, at least until Velal parked a Praetorian Guard squad outside of the senate chambers and reminded them of the Khitomer Treaty's external threat provision."

"Good to hear that the RSE's cooperating," noted Riker. "Odo pulled up a fleet of a couple hundred Jem'Hadar carriers and broke the Heralds over Bajor. Been a bit busy with the Tellar mess, but I should've told you that Kai Kira pinged me ten minutes ago to say that Odo's officially inviting Alliance diplomats to the Dominion to discuss a possible mutual defense pact."

The President made the Saurian equivalent of a whistle. That was big.

"Oh, and Mr. President? D'trel's recommending your favorite Starfleet captain for a medal."

Okeg's smile faded. "Kanril?"

"And I quote, 'You'd better give her the Pike this time or else I'm putting her up for the Empress Ael Medal,' unquote."

"Can she do that?"

"Kanril fought under Rihan command, and on Rihan soil for part of the battle," tr'Kererek explained, "so yes, she can. And in my personal opinion, based on the after-action reports she showed excellent judgement, and she did her damndest to save the _Kholhr_ , even lost a chunk of her saucer stopping a _Baltim_ -class raider from ramming D'trel, then took command of the task force and eliminated the enemy commander after D'trel got taken out." Okeg groaned and tr'Kererek gave him a sympathetic look. "Look, I know she's politically inconvenient—"

"She's a damn headache, is what she is."

"So is D'trel on occasion. All right, frequently—sometimes I'd like to bust her _aehf_ , but I can't afford it. She's a _good officer_ , Mr. President."

"She's a blunt instrument!"

"And sometimes you need a hammer," replied tr'Kererek with a shrug. "D'trel's the best hammer I've seen in decades, and from what I've seen Kanril's good at it, too. I'd be a complete idiot to send D'trel on an intel mission; Elements, we tried that early on, complete disaster. She blew her cover, they shipped her off to Hakeev—complete disaster. Only barely scraped her out of that FUBAR thanks to a deep-cover asset."

Riker and Okeg shared a wince at that.

"Anyway," continued tr'Kererek, "with an officer like that, you use 'em like a hammer. Tell them to eliminate a problem—not a shady one, a public one. It'll get done. Somebody like Gaul, the Voth, the Elachi, the Iconians, all big and in-your-face threat? Hammer." He shrugged again. "If I were you, sir, I'd give Kanril everything she needs and then some right now. We already have a whole case of scalpels working to sabotage the Iconians; and frankly, those fools are sabotaging themselves at this rate. What we need is a really big hammer to shatter them when the cracks show."

Riker resisted the urge to smile. The President grumbled something unintelligible.

"Sir, we have other problems," Admiral Quinn informed him. "The Klingons didn't fare nearly as well as we did. They seem to have made the same mistake as the Tellarites, only with more ships and less coordination."

"Personal glory trip issues?" Riker asked.

"By the truckload. I mean, they completely annihilated the fleet sent there but they took at least sixty percent casualties, and the Chancellor was badly injured trying to make a suicide run on a dread. Damn thing broke his Bort in half and left him for dead, like he wasn't worth the bother finishing off. They only turned the tide because Worf and Ja'rod offered amnesty to some warriors from Torg and Konjah and brought everything left at Ty'Gokor to Qo'noS. That Lethean general of theirs, Brokosh, helped too, called in like half the mercs and pirates in the quadrant. And the after-action reports? _Not_ kind to the Chancellor's military abilities. Fallout from this is going to dramatically affect the balance of power in the Empire."

"What about the Cardassians?"

Quinn clicked a remote at the wall screen. "The Iconians were a no-show. But the Cardies took our advice and pulled everything they could back from the front lines to defend Cardassia, and as a result those Third Empire fanatics overran two planets almost unopposed. Castellan Lang's hopping mad, to say the least." The admiral paused. "If I may make a suggestion on that score, sir?" The President nodded. "We may need to suspend the treaty restrictions on the CDF for a time until we have the Iconian situation under control."

"I'll take it to the Council but I'm not optimistic. What about the Undine? Are they on our side now, or what?"

Quinn grimaced. "Some of them are, at least in that they hate the Iconians at least as much as we do." On the screen, holo-footage played of a comparatively tiny Undine bioship splitting a Herald dreadnought down the middle and frying six battleships over Vulcan. The Iconian attack there had been massive, but a response by over a thousand Undine bioships had neutralized the threat in short order. Undine and Federation losses were minimal at most.

Quinn paged through a few more channels—a eulogy for Admiral Taitt and the crew of the _Caelian_ , an interview with Worf (albeit one conducted while he was striding purposefully somewhere with a deep scowl aimed at the reporter), D'trel on a makeshift podium…

"Hold it there!" said tr'Kererek suddenly. Quinn obliged.

"… is this live?" asked Riker. Quinn checked, and paled. He nodded, and Okeg swore.

"…Well," sighed tr'Kererek, "She did just save our only reliable cheat sheet on the Iconians, and lost more than a third of her crew. Put the volume up, would you please?"

Quinn obliged.

"… _lost many brave men and women, but their sacrifices allowed us to defeat the Iconian force. This is the first Iconian force on record that has used actual tactics and coordination; I can't comment on why that is, but I suspect that the Iconian commander of that fleet has been learning from his mistakes. This is now the third time that I've faced the Iconian known as Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, and the closest he's ever come to victory. The previous two times, he was content to brag about his magnificence or some such in front of armed soldiers. This time, he reacted to our attacks and appears to have targeted my flagship deliberately to disrupt command-and-control. It's only thanks to Captain Kanril Eleya of the Federation Starship_ Bajor _, who skillfully took command of the strike force and managed to kill Inevitably-Fated-for-Idiocy after my ship was disabled, that I and the Preservers that we retrieved from the archive before its destruction survived. I've already said this, but Okeg, she gets the Pike for this or I'm putting her up for the Empress Ael medal._ "

Through his fingers, Riker looked over at Quinn. The Trill's teeth were grinding loudly and he looked almost swollen, apoplectic with rage. Riker couldn't help grinning at the older man's discomfiture. "Hey, _you_ promoted her, Jorel, not me."

"Don't remind me."

* * *

"Thanks for the ride," D'trel says gruffly as the _Bajor_ approaches New Romulus. She's wearing a set of gray battle fatigues Biri loaned her, but still with the sword buckled to her waist. Omek'ti'kallan looms behind her, as he has for most of the trip back to New Romulus. "Your Admiral Riker called me, said you're getting the Pike for saving my bacon."

"My pleasure, sir." I shake the Romulan's proffered hand. "Sorry about the casualties. Is there any way I can…"

She shakes her head. "Not really. I'm going to tell their families, and there's a widows and orphans fund set up with some latinum I, ah, acquired from a Ferengi called Madran. Not much to be done, really."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. I've got about fifty letters to write myself."

D'trel shakes her head again. "Some days I hate this job. At least your government got some sense for once."

I smirk at that. "I think that was mostly you publicly threatening to put me up for the Republic's second-highest honor, sir."

"Kanril, I put everyone up for a medal. Everyone in that fight's getting at the very least a Sotarek Citation, and by all the Elements they deserve it. I put up all the dead for the Alidar Jarok Freedom Medal, too—that one's posthumous-only. Tr'Kererek put everyone on my ship who survived the Inevitably Pretentious One's main gun up for honors, too."

"Even the mercs?"

"Yeah. First Omek'ti'kallan here, he's got to stand through a ten-minute ceremony for the Alliance Service Medal. Which I would've put you up for after Lae'nas III, but it's for our officers only, no wiggle room."

"Thank you, sir."

"Credit where it's due. What you did there took guts and quick thinking, both of which I believe have infinite value."

"Well, credit where it's due," I respond, gesturing to the man at sensors, "I wouldn't have managed it if the master chief there hadn't spotted the weakness in their shields."

"Peter Wiggin, right?" He nods. "Good. Tr'Tellus and D'tan owe me, and Obisek and I are… not friends, really, more political allies who get drinks twice a year and complain about politics. Obisek can get Havran Power behind him. I'll call in a couple favors, you're going to get a call in about a week, once we sort this mess out. Hope you're up for a day trip to ch'Mol'Rihan."

"With respect, sir, you don't seem like a woman who likes dealing with politics."

"The _Deihuit_ has to ratify the Empress Ael. I can recommend it, but they have to vote, which means I need to play politics." She pauses, then asks, "One other thing, are you and Jak—"

"We're fine," I assure her. "Though he may have some trouble moving around for the next few days." She raises an eyebrow and I smirk again and hold up a data solid. "Security feed from the sparring ring in officer country."

D'trel and the big Jem'Hadar look dumbfounded. "Subcommander Jak outweighs you by _how_ much, Captain?" Omek finally says.

"Maybe thirty kilos," I answer matter-of-factly.

D'trel presses a palm to her forehead, shaking her head. "Now I know why he wanted you to adopt any of his potential kids if he dies. And why he applied for a _chakar daran_ course."

I shrug. "He's good, don't get me wrong, but he's got to be both a soldier and a tech. I fight, and that's it."

The Jem'Hadar nods. "Understandable. We must do a practice duel at some point, Captain."

I scoff. "Yeah, right. I saw you throw that class-two halfway through a boulder. The Nausicaan's just a decent shot and a half-decent fighter, not a Jem'Hadar. Though I've beaten them, too," I add thoughtfully.

Omek'ti'kallan smiles. "I told you that she was intelligent as well as competent, Admiral."

"I knew _that_ , First, but you're right, she's not as overconfident as most green Fed captains." She passes him a slip of latinum. "Omek here is strong and fast enough to restrain me when I was hopped up on mind-wipe implants and aggression drugs in a Fen'Domar arena. And I've been fighting for over fifty years, trained by the best swordsman I've ever known, Ameh tr'Shaien. Respectfully speaking, you'd last maybe a minute against him, and that's a long time."

"First Daruk'talan thought the same thing."

"He made First?" rumbles the Jem'Hadar. "I never would have expected him to make it past Third. Odo'Ital must have been pleased with something he did. Or perhaps his First died, there was a dispute with pirates on the frontier when I left on Odo'Ital's orders."

"All I know is, they had him assigned to the honor guard of a Vorta named Kargin when I was posted to DS9 about five years ago."

Omek's expression sours. "Kargin? I take it back. Perhaps Glorious Odo'Ital was _displeased_ with him."

"Exiting warp now, ma'am," Lieutenant Park announces.

A blue-green world inflates into view and D'trel gasps. Battle debris litters space and Park has to change course to avoid what looks like the starboard wing of a _Ha'apax_ -class warbird, raggedly severed from the fuselage. Much of the planet's equatorial jungle and part of the capital city Temer's Soul is in flames, and Esplin picks up chatter on the emergency channel.

Job's not over yet. "Wiggin! Rev up the biosign sensors. Let's see if we can save a few more lives on our way in."

* * *

Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds was not happy.

His son, Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, felt a little thrill of rebellious glee as he realized that he did not care.

The Eternal Grand Supreme High Emperor's announcer's flowery praise of the Emperor's modesty was beginning to draw to a close. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness figured that he would soon be asked to speak.

"...Why, then, does our glorious Eternal Grand Supreme High Emperor, the infinitely great, perfectly modest, astoundingly handsome, unbelievably wise supreme intelligence of our infinitely glorious Empire find his glorious and magnificently majestic self with such a MISERABLE FAILURE OF A SON?"

There was silence. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness smiled.

"You are all fools."

There was a ripple of shock and horror through the hall. The announcer squawked like a squashed toad, but Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness stood dramatically and telekinetically threw the other Iconian into a pillar, pinning him there.

"My infinite armies and innumerable fleets may have failed to eliminate the servitors' resistance," thrummed Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness, "but I have gained something far more important." He took a breath. "Knowledge.

"The rebel servitors were so effective against us because they use a thing called _military tactics_. They planned the movements of their ships to strike together, rather than simply ordering a disorganized attack as we do. They forged _alliances_ , getting assistance that we did not think they could get, mustering fleets that we _could not understand_ that they could muster! Our forces under High Lord Fated-for-a-Glorious-Life were obliterated at one world without inflicting any casualties at all due to these alliances! I have begun studying these _military tactics_ , and I, with a force of only one dreadnought and two battleships, with six cruisers to support, destroyed more than half of a servitor fleet and annihilated the Preserver Archive! I shall continue my campaign, and I will _crush the servitor scum underfoot_! For am I not inevitably fated for greatness?"

He waited. Iconians shouted with rage. He stared his father in the middle eyes.

He waited.

Destined-for-Glorious-Deeds stood, and the hall quieted instantly.

"YOU HAVE DISPLEASED US, INEVITABLY-FATED-FOR-GREATNESS," thrummed the Iconian suzerain. "YOU HAVE FAILED US, AND YOU HAVE DISRESPECTED OUR HALL OF INFINITE MAJESTY. AS PUNISHMENT, YOU WILL BE EXILED TO THE PRIMITIVE MILKY WAY, WHERE YOU WILL ATTEMPT YOUR PATHETIC CONQUEST WITH WHATEVER SHIPS MAY BE SPARED. LEAVE US."

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness didn't fight back as his father instantly disintegrated him. What was the point? He'd just wake up in…

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness woke up.

 _Ow. That could have gone better._

"Inevitably victorious Supreme Hi—"

"Yes, what is it, puny servitor?"

"Er, Servitor 18754 is here to see you, Master. You summoned him, majestic one?"

"Ah, yes. Leave us, minion."

The Solanae attendant skittered out. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness beheld a lowly Herald Thrall.

"My Lord?" asked the Herald. Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness saw something _different_ about this one. The way it held itself. The steadiness of its gaze and the controlled fear.

"You took command of my vessel after I was slain, and evacuated when it was clear that victory was impossible, yes?"

"Yes, O Inevitable—"

"Yes, yes, I'm fated for something magnificent or some such. You are now promoted, Servitor. From now on, you shall be my Grand Vizier, Star-of-Day, who shall rise like the sun and bring my armies to victory!"

The Herald gaped, uncomprehending. Then,

"I am unworthy of this honor, great lord. But I shall do my best to please you—"

"No. Not to _please_ me. To _win_. I want the pathetic rebel races crushed beneath my magnificent heels, understand? Anything that you do towards that goal, even if you fail to show proper respect for my glorious visage, I shall not care. For victory, Star-of-Day, is all that matters now."

The Herald looked Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness directly in the eyes now. And smiled.

Inevitably-Fated-for-Greatness mirrored the gesture. He _understood_ , now. He had incredible power, and now he knew how to use it.

Nothing could possibly stand in his way!

Internally, the newly-christened Star-of-Day smiled in a slightly different manner. With this tool starting to grasp the basics of competence, he might actually pull this plan off.

* * *

 _Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, California. 1400 hours, June 10th, 2410._

I'm standing on a stage in full dress, and I'm as uncomfortable as standing on a stage usually makes me.

Admiral Riker doesn't seem to share my discomfort, though. He's smiling as he takes from a box a glittering brass medallion hanging from a blue, gold, and red ribbon. "To Captain Kanril Eleya, in recognition of your remarkable leadership and meritorious conduct against the enemy, and in particular for personal acts of bravery displayed during the battle on and over Lae'nas III, Starfleet Command is proud to present you the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor." He presses the ribbon to my party salad above one of my Citations for Conspicuous Gallantry, and it self-seals to the pale gray fabric. "Your exemplary courage and heroism reflect great credit upon yourself, your crew, and the Federation Starfleet. Congratulations, Captain."

"Thank you, sir."

Master Chief Kinlo snarls, "Company! Salute!" There's an echoing stomp as all present come to attention.

"But this victory did not come without great cost," he continues in a somber tone as he and I pivot in place to face the audience. "To Rear Admiral Alexandra Elena Taitt, for incomparable courage in the face of the enemy, in an act of singular daring and scientific skill, involving the voluntary sacrifice of her own life to protect the eight billion residents of the Sol system, I have recommended to the President the posthumous award of the Federation Medal of Honor. Starfleet Science has lost one of its best."

"Aim!" Kinlo bellows to the honor guard. "Fire!" Thirteen phaser rifles rend the sky with light and sound. "Aim! Fire!" Again they fire. "Aim! Fire!"

Riker continues, "To Captain Jojo Appiah, commander of Starbase 234…"

The ceremony finishes a few minutes later and Riker dismisses us. As I step off the stage, Admiral Quinn waves me over to him. "Congratulations, Captain," he says, perhaps a little grumpily.

"You don't sound too happy to see me, sir," I comment in a teasing tone.

He presses his hand to his forehead and sighs. "Kanril Eleya, you're an almighty pain in the ass, but I need everyone on deck right now."

I give him a grim smile. "I'm with you as long as you want, sir."

"Good, I've got a job for you. Commodore Paris is putting together a strike force for a mission, but he needs some heavy firepower."

"Get my saucer patched up and I'm in, sir," I say without hesitation.

"You're at the front of the line."

* * *

 _Ch'Mol'Rihan._

D'trel and Omek sat in an apartment in one of the intact sections of Hachae s'Temer. It was an informal affair; D'trel was for once out of uniform, in sweatpants and a loose shirt, and Omek was really _lounging_ , something that he rarely if ever did. The Rihanha had a bottle of ale—Thavrau Wineries 2406, according to the label—clutched in one hand, and the Jem'Hadar held a small, slightly worn book. Several of the pages were folded in.

They sat there in silence, one arm of each around the other. D'trel nursed her ale. Omek stared into the sunset, which was brilliant red with the particles of destroyed Herald ships floating down into the atmosphere. From where they were sitting they couldn't see the fires that were mostly out by now, but sirens still wailed and D'trel knew the search-and-rescue efforts continued. High Admiral Obisek, who technically outranked D'trel due to his honorary seat in the _Deihuit_ , had outright ordered both the Rihanha and the Jem'Hadar to stop helping and go get some rest after the first few hours. So now they sat, side by side, in silence.

"He was a good kid," whispered D'trel at last. "I liked him."

Omek rumbled his agreement. "He rewired Doctor Chaotica's death ray and came up with a solution to a temporal wormhole without showing any sign of fear. He was brave."

"He was a good kid," repeated D'trel. "He didn't deserve that death. Didn't even have a girlfriend yet."

"He punched Satan's Robot in the face and knocked it over," reminisced the Jem'Hadar. "I have seldom seen such a ridiculous thing become such a glorious deed."

D'trel took a swig of ale. "A good kid," she repeated. Her eyes were wet. "Every damn time, I survive and they die."

"I am here," rumbled the Jem'Hadar. "I did not die. Daysnur did not die. Zel did not die. More of us lived than died, Admiral."

D'trel half-smiled, half grimaced with tempestuous sadness. "True." She looked at the ale in her hand, and swore quietly. "I have to stop this, First. Can't let the dead rule me, you know?"

First Omek'ti'kallan grunted quietly in agreement, but otherwise was silent.

"People need me, you know? I can't just fucking degenerate into an angry miserable mass like I did the first few times I lost people. _Ariennye_ , Adani's ghost would kill me." Then, after a moment of slightly-drunk consideration, "Tr'Shaien, too. He'd bust my _aehf_ , tell me to get back to my station and mean it."

The Jem'Hadar grunted quietly again. D'trel took another swig.

"Fuck it. I've been making progress, I didn't slip at all this time around despite the situation, and Daysnur says he wants to take me off my meds, completely. I can _do_ this shut. I can operate without help." A pause. "Though I want you at my back, of course."

"Of course," came the rumble. "You and me, watching each others' backs, pulling each other up. That is the order of things."

"Only ever trusted two other people as much as you, First," rasped the Rihanha. "They're both dead." She did not elaborate, and neither did the Jem'Hadar ask for elaboration. He knew exactly what the Rihanha meant, anyway.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Then,

"Joh'Kghan should walk unassisted in approximately ten days," rumbled Omek. "And Antecenturion Torvek should recover completely. Captain Kanril's doctor was able to repair the nerves effectively on the journey home."

"Good," D'trel replied. They sat silently some more. D'trel took another swig.

"They're giving us a new ship. _Kholhr_ 's BER, so they're handing me the chip for an _Ar'Kala_ -class carrier. Crew of three hundred, a hangar bay with _Scorpion_ -class fighters. And they're authorizing any modifications that our engineering crew can make work."

Omek nodded. "I assume that what weapons and equipment are salvageable from the _Vengeance_ will be used?"

D'trel half-smiled, half-grimaced. "Of course. Engineering's getting _ideas_. That Kobali in Maintenance came to me with a crazy plan to rig the destabilized plasma torpedo launcher that we salvaged from the main hull to fire in synchrony with the forward particle cannon that the new-model _Ar'Kif_ s come with. We'll be back to chewing up Iconians soon enough."

"What shall we name it?" asked Omek.

D'trel was silent for a few moments. She pulled a picture, ink on paper, out of her jacket, and looked at it. Omek did not need to steal a glance to know what the picture was.

" _Sienov Ecurain_ ," whispered the Rihanha. "She would have wanted me to have hope." Then, on the edge of hearing,

"She would have wanted me to _defend_ hope."

 **THE END**


End file.
